idol, poetry, sin

When the Time Comes

I saw it in my dream or future. 

When I will put my gods to sleep.

Now’s not the time.

It’s too soon. Or way too late.


They numb, gnawing my nerves stinging like pleasures.

They stroke, scraping their nails, across my surfaces.

They kiss, biting icy dry lips underneath my glosses.

I feel what they are doing.

I like it now.

But how does it feel 

When they’ve finished chewing?

And what of the when that I already saw? 

When now was swallowed. Swollen unknowable. 

Mindfully rehabilitated. Soaking in lye. 

When bleached of every evil. 

But now’s not the time

When fighting for my murderers. 

Now is the moment

When I can’t do without them.

Sleeping with the enemy

Vision of indecision.

That’s too kind. To myself. Blind. 

It’s a paved road of refusal. 

I’m losing hope 


When I accidentally dream my future.

Because I won’t do it.


Won’t come. 

It’s too late.

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