DEIMOS
An echo, an echo, an echo, bounding between guilty panes and heavy shoulders, loss reverberating against loss. Wraiths, phantoms, shackles, and lines, and she could tell him he was enough until the world ended, but it wouldn’t hold much more than that – words on a canvas, pouring down into all the blood pooled beneath. The denial stretched into his heart and lungs and soul, ricocheting, amplifying. “I cannot keep doing this.” Another repetition, because he didn’t have much left to give. Death after death after death, succumbing to the brink time and time again.
A murmur into her, a whisper into fabric, into the plague of doubts riddling, scorching, casting them on drowning shores. “I am so tired.” And broken, and adrift, and jagged, wounded far, far deeper than anything on the surface – the outward scars held nothing to the inward ones. No anchors left, nothing solid to hold except one another until they were fatigued, labored, and exhausted, down to the bones. Who pulled who then? Who saved the other? Who gave in? Who stopped trying? “Are you?” When did it start and when did it end? When they had become shells and fragments, instead of wholes?
A murmur into her, a whisper into fabric, into the plague of doubts riddling, scorching, casting them on drowning shores. “I am so tired.” And broken, and adrift, and jagged, wounded far, far deeper than anything on the surface – the outward scars held nothing to the inward ones. No anchors left, nothing solid to hold except one another until they were fatigued, labored, and exhausted, down to the bones. Who pulled who then? Who saved the other? Who gave in? Who stopped trying? “Are you?” When did it start and when did it end? When they had become shells and fragments, instead of wholes?
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
