hands of hammers

torture is so easy to debate. like love. funny, it is. we use one to cope with the other. we head our own telethons, collecting caches of each. something good to rely on, when the goods are going, going, gone. hands of hammers, to nail us in. torture is so easy to debate.

we know ourselves so well. we've known ourselves for so long, and longer still. still sitting, wondering what we could have done, what we've done so wrong, why we couldn't get it right. we face and then erase long lines of logic, we can't afford. we can't afford the faces we replace. we can't afford the mistakes we've made. we try to change, we try to rearrange the events that led us to where we stand, we find ourselves feeling so deranged over the impossible prospect of finding what's already been found. what's already been ingrained. what we've already failed to replace.

we crowd surf off our cliffs. it's all fun. and it's all well and good, when the goods are going, going, gone. love is so easy to debate. like torture. funny, it is. we use one to escape the other. telethons. the lines are ringing. but no one's home. we're all going, going, gone. free to the highest bidder. long lines of logic we bid adieu. long lines of logic we do imbue and debate. confiscated by what is easiest to a free home. to the highest bidder.

we never know when to compromise. we never know if it's us. our faults. if it's our fault. what is free. what is easy. apart from humility. passers-by. crucifixion. fiction. memory. every inch of the long lines we deny.

compromise is so easy to debate. like ourselves. like love. like all the stupid things we've said and done. i've got a cache of each. something to rely on. torture is so easy to debate.