We, all, are golden keys, delivered and never finalized, though set into ruins, still able to unlock treasures in one another. Floating in tsunamis of shattered bones and shells and seaweed, we sink only when we refuse to rise.
Heartsick, apologetic and panicked, yet still the taste of pestilent cities are preferred to sit on the lips, still to carve rather than caress the hollows, still to retch as if seasick from honey and flies.
Selfsick, no breath, contact is affirmation of possibility is challenge to be more than culpable, to deny all that bears lie to the truth of infinite potential… so much bleach in the stomach, coiled in cannons; face the fields, pray by open graves…. remember… remember.
The things you thought you were to learn from all only hide the lessons… this, the joke that stains the mouth to speak… denial, denial, denial, yet the whispered truth remains…
None of this is real.