Failure to-

Crowd-sourced material.
The smell of beer and cheap floors
A table with sixteen chairs,
half of them full.

No-one else comes.
No-one else goes.

Broken pencil lead leaves
A mark on the surface,
A scratch on the ledge
A scar on the table leg.

Searching for meaning,
validation, a tug
the pull on the heart
a hug that you give
But goes deeper
than expected, and you know–

This is it.

A moment.
Two artists link, eyes
that see everything.
There’s no image,
word, hope, or cure.
It’s a metaphor we find.
In our lives, entwined.
Life? Art?
A funny line.

Only trying. Failing.
Cycle, repeat.
Wash, rinse, feel defeat.
Jumping the gun
Fighting clocked systems
Knowing there’s more, but
More but–
but what?

Laughter because tears
sting eyes after they’ve cried
too long
the end of a night’s song
A long night and a sigh.
A long conversation
we’re wearing thin
Wearing nothing-
Naked.

Learning some things?
Is this it?
Not at all.

Hope.
Is a stacked hand
stacked deck with a lost chance
hand in the dark
Knife on your throat.
I ask you to hurt me
But you say no
I’m your friend.
No again.

What draws the line,
the cut,
the blade across skin?
“Let me in.”
No. I’m your friend.
No, not again.

Fuck, wait.
We’re stuck
Cycle on repeat
Rinse and release
Is this it?

Midnight, and
break of dawn
A splash of blood.
It’s over before we start.
I loved you, but…
I loved you, but–
I loved you.

If you don’t love me, fuck.
If you won’t touch me, what?
You don’t want me,
Fine.

It’s a long time in coming.

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