shake it out.

my words have fallen down again. so i go about as an insect or as death that gathers the world up in its furs, what fury and want, only natural if not to decay. the want for lightning to split the room, for chalices of flesh to empty, the dawn that strikes on flame. or love or grip or vast or great. yes, i want such a simple boundless thing.

but i remain and continue, and as i do, your hope is yet boundless, too. but we never touch, we never speak, we never know just how close our broken rooms have become. cheap paint hides your name, cracked light takes my smile.

i never know.