In our life we compromise when love dries up leaving mineral deposits on our windows and around the kitchen drain. We take silence over explanations, we take a possible hint of attention over goodness, over meaning, again and again and again. Just to hit a rock bottom that was below the ground.
It is odd this world of sacrifices and commitments, of I love you's and I hate you's, and inside of all those you is just one person who looks like a tunnel, an infinity between yesterday and tomorrow, our lingering death as we wait between paradise again for judgement, assuming that we will all get stuck in the drain, clogged up inside an epiphany of hope or good fortune, so we wait collecting water and dust inside someone's voice as a validation, a white flag on a mound.
We wait staring into the gray sky, and we find nothing but the slick inside's of a snake's digestion track, and we fall back down again like a rat in his throat into the fires of oblivion.
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