No Mar No To

He wouldn’t convince the time machine to take me back to her, I have only contempt for his refusal, and I would take his life,
With a spoon,
And a knife,
And eat the remains of a good mind, that of which kept me from her horrors, no feast, at least, I’d eat.
He talked to me about my tomorrow, and highlighted my recently dimmed yesterdays of discomfort and twisted harps, the discord she would further disorganize, and feed from the chaos that sanded my hopeless bones,
Much a feast, of gnashing teeth to a sullen beat,
Melodies of distress and undone promises she couldn’t keep,
It took her one-hundred thirty nine weeks,
To devour the whole corpse.
The time machine spoke to me, in a dream outspokenly it seemed…to have created a black hole which its gravity would pull and yank on my light-less soul into a future not yet.
I passed her pictures on the way, knocking over tables and frames,
Breaking glass and chains,
Tainting carpet with blood stains,
I no knowledge that the future would drag stiff, balling my black tank top with its grip,
Cutting my leg deep with the nightstand tip,
And insulting me the whole way,
Injures of my journey I’d thought never go away,
Enemies of my quest I’d thought to never sway,

I know lay in future’s arms,
Questioning why her heart beats so sporadically…

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