My fists are breaking. Caring for you and yours. Mothers filled with consequences I couldn't explain through sparkles of time. Worshiping my own pillow as though it would come of the ground, sacrificing the darkness of the light. Polluting the mesmerizing stars which of you've always spoke.

Cracked windshields upon a tower so bland, I ask for your hand and the summers here.

Creating this revolt made up of our papers and the songs we sang inside those trees.

The houses that crashed on your porch led to mouths full of blisters and left eyes materializing behind our shoulders.These waken nights makes me smile, even though my life still surrounds us. Wishmaking made a way to make time pass us by, practically upsetting the worlds of flies. I don't care why and it's all so very right.

As the feathers left our skin you walked through a rain of sins. We crashed back through the masks of eclipsed sequences of the moon. Appreciating the flashes of eruptions made by the surface shaped like an exitroute. Mistaken for our way of existense the nails tapping the floor lead us on.
Further walking towards the lingering grass and sickening sights.
Further towards the sun and the moon.
Further towards the effect of castrated munchkins in a singular sentence.
The vomit in my mouth tastes of your upper lips, the cracks in your skin.  Beneath a sickened sky I wash away.

In a pillow fight in an abandoned apartment between the church's roof and underneath the floating sun. A man passed us by, I asked him why? He said, said, said, said. I crashed down on the floor from the second bed balcony, we built it with stones and whispers. The cracks in the floor upset the man as he tried to salvage the pieces that left my body. I don't care for the sake of our own sanity, a purpose so huge it almost suffocates me. 
Considering that the man was still angry I wrote him a two page poem as I laid on the floor. It was about birds and women's right to vote. Exactly under my fourth finger the cracks started to burn, inside your fragile mind our past shouted at us to turn. Missing links in siamese dreams about fractions of despair in an alienated town, I turned around. With my back against my face and a sorry sound, the lifes of our fathers were put down on the ground. Equal measures through the mans cracked skull and forced words came out of his mouth: I said!
 
When the cigarettes flashed before your eyes I closed mine and our absense through time, it shifted forever in my next four lines.