tik-tok, tik-tok
Pulling his boots out of the mud, he walks into tomorrow.
Head high, but pride has not been seen here in decades.
Wheezing air coughs its last, but don’t tell him that, don’t tell him.
Glass paper slipping through his fingers like sand. Boom, blood wells from the cuts.
Collapse. The strings snipped one by one. But what does it all mean? He asks over and over.
Mould them into something new. Rewrite the script and change the ending.
He drops the gun, takes the words in his mouth, and kisses the town’s beating heart.
Tomorrow may be theirs and yesterday is broken but he has today, today there is time.
Just enough time for prayers, for words and hands clasped.
Young and naive, forget what’s to come, there are seconds and minutes to spend.
Break it, break it again, rebuild. Again, again. Kiss each knuckle until the bruises fade.
Masks, real or fake? Real, they answer. The truth is whatever you make it.
A single eternity, an infinite moment. That’s where it happens.
The snake comes home to roost and the chickens live till morning.
A bloody man washes off the dirt and gives in.
Lost girls search a little longer, ever closer to the ending.
What lurks underneath your skin? Under mine?
Yargachin, yargachin
Haruspex, you're just a series of actors, each distorting the role further, until it becomes utterly unrecognisable.
Helplessness is nothing squashed under the boot of faith. One foot in front of the other, the cause doesn’t matter, only the result. Hold the words close, what little you have, is yours. Hand off your future, and let it lie.
What if I was to reverse time? What if the flower petals did not wilt? The trees not lose their leaves? The buildings not groan with age? What then?
The power to speak as another, to speak as yourself. Can you speak as yourself if you are a role, an actor?
