Descent

There must be an explanation. In Einstein, perhaps, or someone later. For how I can relive hours within the sweep of a minute hand, between rings of the phone, between breaths. A physics of thought. Of madness.
The lying calendar says it's been four days since she vanished. I feel ancient, but the lying glass shows me a face unchanged, sinister, like Dorian Gray's.
Like his.
I wear only two splints, but he's broken a hundred fingers. In four days I've betrayed her a dozen times. And I wonder if this is the world ending, if we failed after all.

There must be an explanation. In Einstein, perhaps, or someone later. For how I can relive hours within the sweep of a minute hand, between rings of the phone, between breaths. A physics of thought. Of madness.
The lying calendar says it's been four days since she vanished. I feel ancient, but the lying glass shows me a face unchanged, sinister, like Dorian Gray's.
Like his.
I wear only two splints, but he's broken a hundred fingers. In four days I've betrayed her a dozen times. And I wonder if this is the world ending, if we failed after all.