Back up

Launched, into a pinball machine. Don’t you mess up. So much control is seen. So little control is real.
Follow an echo that isn’t mine. Fly into the bumpers. To the heart, buried so deep within.
Follow an echo that wants to be mine. With hands outstretched, I feel the tears begin.
That heavy beat, one two, one two, falsified as the ball falls into oblivion.
You have lost, but for another quarter you can play again.

For another quarter, that echo rings.
For another quarter, round two begins. Reach forth.
Reach for the strength hidden in my ribcage. I am tearing cobwebs with a madness.
I feel the rush, pushing into my throat, I feel the necessity, breaking me.
The tears have sprung and they pour. Search. Fly into the bumpers. Where is it?
Where is that echo coming from? It doesn’t come from nothing.
Hands outstretched, I feel my smile fading.

I have held on to this, to this unknown, to this echo, following blindly.
I have been happy. Ignorantly happy. Ignoramous. Ball falls into oblivion.
For another quarter.
No more quarters. My legs begin to shake. My knees give. I am down.
I am down, amongst cobwebs and thousands of tears.
All for a stupid echo. An echo that wasn’t mine.
I wanted it to be mine so badly.

I have found it. I have found that endlessly beating, throbbing muscle, feeding life.
It is worn. Nothing I have imagined. Stretch marks on all sides.
Not a vibrant image, screaming alive, it is pathetic
It is old, it is weak, the walls shake and it leaks onto my fingertips
This, this frail thing, has held me through.
Through those tears, through the confusion.
This frail thing has given me my own reason.
No more echos. No more reckless pinball games. No more.
Sitting amongst cobwebs and tears, I feel a smile touch the corners of my lips.


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