Stolen lines

"emaciated ghosts,
hiding in those
curtain's creases." (Samson, When I write my master's thesis)

I took its picture
before it evaporated.
A puff of smoke,
it went away.

A picture to prove
that it had been
that it was
and that I had seen.

I'm sorry,
I'm not a fucking poet.

A new place

Before tomorrow,

after yesterday,

but not now.

Not now and not yet.

I used to remember,

releasing memories,

of what was.

Not now,

but at one time.

I kept it,

held it for so long.

Gripped it

with care, with love.

But I forgot

what I wanted

when it was easier.

Not now,

but at one time.

To wake up

in a new place,

not better, but 

just different.

I can't remember

what was

or who I was.

Not now,

but at one time.

Layering

I met you as I was tunneling through,
descending into the cracks between
layers of fossilized time.
You, balled like a hedgehog,
frozen between sheets and panes.
Trapped in your own past.

Though I tried, I could not rouse you.
Despite the rough shaking,
and the volume of my cries.
Eventually, I too lost
the desire to continue
and curled into your shadow.

And the layers grew above us,
like mortar and bricks anew.
They painted us into this place and
piled high above our nestled bodies.
Like mortar and bricks anew.
Like mortar and bricks anew.