Lies of a Day

If I could take every word you ever said and put them in a vial I would swallow it and let it slip and drift through my entrails and fall deep down into little closets of my mind that I still hold chaste. The only repose after days of being and days of drifting are these words that you pair and form poetry and art and magic with. I can’t help falling in love with glimpses of you in a Doors song or in lines of self-destruction scribbled along books. Words aren’t important otherwise, they pass lips-big, black, bruised, pink and full, all of them-and hide little crevices that open in solace. But with you, there are a life-line, from me to you and then back again. Passed to and fro like breath and food for the dying.

Hope,

Joy,

Affection,

Affectation.