pray for KO's deliverance. (ah[!])-men, say those who fail in sharing my lacking religion, the worst character judges.
those good kids, though, who stick around my head long enough to ferment a rapport, they tell me well. cans clinking together. tins to tins, mugs to chugs. affliction by the cupid-stupids, transmitted through fiery shots, sod spots protruding and incisions not. a hodge-podge of appendages flailing within themselves for moments, until a sudden, sticky liquid leaks all over, and stillness arrives, vanguard to the realization: my parenting skills lack.
television forefront, and the periphery's (blurry). but my (eyes), dare wander? (pa)h! why embrace what needs distraction?
longest nights mar fondest on our unmarked plaques, our undented papers. invisible consequence scratches, time's manifest suppressing its wounds. ordering remains important as ever in our bumblebee-(buzz)ing, (ludicrous)ly rushing lifespans. origination rarely occurs in peace. creation is movement, transition, the translation of actuality's portrait to reality's frame. to look through some frames, though, is to see watercolor bleeding, charcoal smeared, paint diminished as it touches earth-bound sadness. palpable, the liquid regret of spurned fulfillment (visible only to [one]). stick out the tongue, sip it all, lick it from the atmosphere until blank space equals the remainder, until tones, typefaces, and timelines blend into their commonality - (endless) white.
ding ding. bell rings. KO continues. off once more.