#sideways-stories

[sideways-stories]

based on a poem by @inkskinned

[sideways-stories]

how many years can I go before it gets too hard to

swallow sticky sunlight

and hope it

glues my ribs back together?

how long will it take for this

hugs-will-make-it-better, this

learn-to-breathe-and-it-will-pass, this

be-yourself-and-forge-your-own-path

bullshit to shatter

under the throbbing pressure of

no-the-fuck-it-wont-it-will-only-get-stronger?

how many melted sunrises does it take for me to

give in and stop pretending

that I can fix it with

music or

sex or

just the right flavour of tea--

and when I do,

is that right?

maybe lying to the morning frost

is the only way to put off its power,

or maybe it all does help, just

not forever,

but maybe every fuck session,

every radio-up-long-drive just

masks the tension

until we drown in pretending.

e.m.