Mark Off Each Day With A Cross


Faces in a black and white photograph. Childhood nightmares wrapped in animal hearts. Blistered skin beneath an opaque sun. She bursts into flames. She speaks soundless words as day turns into night. Each blameless vessel, lingering out of view as the city lights blind with cheap trickery. Forged in empty spaces of time, stories that grow without words. Contentment breeds passive desires, yet within it are the seeds of wonder. Caged birds no longer. Tigers growling with rage leading you right back to where you belong. Time shifts yet stays the same. You become a shadow only to reappear still intact. Colours not faded, just eclipsed by passing seasons. Months and years of pointless fear, banished in a second as her smile comes back around. The void doesn’t exist. It’s just a form of fear. Fear breeds comfort, and comfort brings stationary steps in the snow. Jokers in a ring of deceivers, never listening to what they can’t bear to hear. It’s a long and lonely road, yet the only way out is through. Flashes of light. Sparks that ignite yet ignored with numb resistance. Mark off each day with a cross. Tear out the pages of your diary and flush them down the river. Let them swim with the turds. Let them go, with nothing but regret to reveal the pleasures you have yet to find.

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