Box

It's like you're rolling the dice only the dice have no marks, they're just little black boxes. And we know black boxes, black boxes are endless problems. Black boxes in airplanes aren't black at all, anyway. Theyre bright red. Look at me, I'm opaque! Red. Magician's box. What's inside?

You, in half.

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- - – ..-

I learnt esperanto, morse code, backslang. I'd tell you when you weren't listening, sign it to you with your eyes shut, trace it on your back while you were sleeping, a tactile Chinese whispers. I'd breathe it on your pores like I thought it'd reach your bloodstream quicker that way and I thought it so hard sometimes I half expected you to hear it. Mi amas vin. Te dua, te amo. Over and over till you were painted in this invisible ink, and I felt at least if I wasn't a lover then I was an artist and I was making you more beautiful by loving you.

It's 01:06am

But I'm awake. In my POSTGRADUATE place, doing POSTGRADUATE things.

You don't get to know.

Wound

Story is, I fell off a train today, ripped through my jeans and got this baby.

When I say fell off a train, I stepped off, and on attempting to alight my baggage it collided with my person and I just kind of went with the flow. And when I say my jeans I mean a friends jeans because I'm not wasting time wearing things I own.