1. |
Bayesian Network
04:08
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These hands seem so useless,
these steps have no purpose,
this mouth can't even speak,
these arms refuse to hold you.
White plastic clings to her hands,
bathes four walls that swallow its residents.
Breathing sets its own pace.
My blood flows patiently through my veins,
as propping open my eyelids becomes my sole purpose.
There is a comfort in giving in.
Dividing my skin with a brushstroke
only to slowly stitch it back together.
Ribs spread like wings.
An untouched landscape appears in front of her.
The decision of being helpless.
The surgery’s complete, but the results still unknown.
Aching persists though the bruising is gone.
A different pain is still pain.
And sometimes at night I miss the old aches.
Tonight I will hold my breath until I fall asleep
so I can feel the operating table
and believe I’m in the right hands.
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2. |
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J: Your cracking fingers sprawl across your mother's kitchen tablecloth like all the paths you had to pave, when you were young. When you were my age. I once found comfort in whispering on my knees, I believed every locked door had a perfect fitting key, but perceived, as I advanced through this hallway these doors remain shut. Before my hope can speak a voice interrupts, "Life is but a timeline, an abstraction of feeling a glass room beneath god with an unbreakable ceiling. Simplified existence leave no lives contrasting: living, breathing, living, breathing, gasping."
Justin: I clench my fists and teeth, my footsteps make a beat... I scream my insecurity, even I am unsure of me.
...And what is another person in a sea of so many? I am alone, and I am afraid.
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3. |
Numerals
05:03
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Justin: Today I feel a lot less like a person. And more like a number on a page. A statistic typed up and thrown away. 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Everything I did, Everything I've done...
I can't see straight and you avert your eyes. I'll feel different by sunrise.
J: As the day approaches evening, your eyes are still fleeting.
Coursing through the rivers in my wrists, peeling paint but the walls just persist...
...to encroach around my neck and endure the next moments when I should be breathing, could be seeing, I'm still seeking answers in these ruins I helped create, monuments that I forsake.
Now this dust is caked beneath my ribs, taut flesh sleeps beneath my skin.
But I've been sleeping too, wading through these bodies, when I should be swimming, could be living, but I've been giving in to giving up, to folding in, as my hands safely approach no one, but I will look onward, keep my eyes locked straight ahead, bathe in the irises I'd previously fled because I have tasted life, while my father chews on death, can't I learn to enjoy what he must start to ingest?
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