From those tiny cracks in time between our spoken words, between the borders of our skins, the spaces we do not cross, from the moments that are fleeting for we dare not dwell upon them - we fall.
I wish for rain. It does not show. Not a blot on the sky today. The cleansing must be postponed. A few more days with the sin.
Not a bad thing entirely, living with the blazing metal lodged deep within. Now cooling, coagulating with my blood, my very being, it releases an alchemy of its own.
I try to ignore it, turn to stone. To not feel, to be. To only be. And to feel only what is impressed, to not desire action or reaction. To not be mortal, or even immortal? To only be.
The mind wanders free. And then, a tug at the tissues. Or is it the other way around? Reality has lost its structure. Mouth dry, palms wet with anticipation, I struggle to breath. The bullet makes its way up to my head.
Soon, the poison will spread. I am helpless, I realise. I plunge a blade into the evil, I seek to root it out. No such luck. It stays within, the original sin. Time kills all, I hope. Another day of torment, another year at most.
Sins passed on, from host to host. The sins of the fathers visited by the sons.
To not have time before me, just this once? Too much to demand. The vile knowledge inside me has built a wall.
And, for our wretched loss of innocence, we fall.