Stalls

"You're all assholes."

Those are the only words that reach a standstill in this stream of voices and half-empty bottled dream, run down by the trip across the sea. They are shaped like hourglasses, only because little girl is marking time, knowing it'll all be too soon when shattered stones clitter-clatter, too soon when pearls slip down the drains and gutter, in between the rips and seams. Little girl, her father was a glassmaker, she was forged in fire and swirling winds. But now she's here in the dark, dark - tiles littered with broken nails and clumps of hair, they spark, spark. (afire) lights our sun-dried skies - nothing more than embers and the ashes from the tips of all the cliffs that they were born from. cliffs of smokestacks and lips, all these absolute-realities. Embarking on a different chapter, here she is, for the sake of laughter, covered in tattered circus curtains, covered in confetti lies - cheeks bloody with the beating and she, she takes a seat and begs them to leave - leave her alone. Broken legs, she'll crawl back to that jail cell that is no longer industrial. locked in the deepest corner she'll cover herself with the tips of cigarette blades. little girl is drawing embers, little girl is sealed in coal. Flush it all down the toilet, girly, baby in the bathwater. and when they knock, please bare your bloody lips and say "Close the fucking door."

The hallway steam is just a cum, a second-rate. It's all for the embers, clunking down as coal, riding waves like babies with spiders in their eyes. Will they finally survive?

"You're all assholes."
Question answered.
Now close that bloody door.