and the whispers
and the whispers we share are only connected with red string, like you dear reader, we scatter for meaning – disco eyes, panic adjacent. the bathroom a confessional for secrets we’ve never thought to keep. hold us together with lyric-less melody. lyric-less melody over and over, every moment a replay of the last, every moment the last, every moment after the moment of the before. the sunrises and nothing has changed, I recognise nothing and so accept this as the reality I’ve always known. hold me till the yarn we play with grounds the reality we pass through so quickly. fast in the moment, faster in the reverse. holding cubist form to your body as you scream your victory over those who hurt you. your cubist form holds in my occipital, I hold your thunder in my temporal, I hold your vision in my parietal and I hold our intention in my prefrontal. all deteriorated – tragedy beyond no others, every moment comedic in its tragedy.
I don’t want you to understand, if you do my truth bleeds. I want to hold it in my chest, only to be discovered through adjacent kaleidoscope.