Sunday, 24 April 2011

... a lesson in ratio.

Wasted Bottles

With a ratio that's slipping on one end to the other; from 89, 88, 87: 11, 12, 13.

It's no wonder that the claws come out in the better times; so i can stick those claws into the moment to be cemented within it. But if i myself were to be the living, breathing personification of time, would i be willing to do the same to my own centre to hold myself into place? Like a wallclock to a nail; suspended.

79, 78, 77: 21, 22, 23.

Hammering myself into a spot; a purgatory of a moment once loved but ruined and that's all that this is. But am i willing? Well it seems so; the sacrifice to keep and to cherish while it is meerly endured.

69, 68, 67: 31, 32, 33.

Spending everyday on a boat floating amongst the waters of said purgatory as i throw bottle after bottle out to sea with no care from the recipient waiting on the shoreline to find it. As they recieve with only the intention to endure and not to cherish.

59, 58, 57: 41, 42, 43.

But my arms tire and my centre drains; As you endure, i endure but no longer do i cherish. I watch the moment that i'm cemented in as i watch you; an eye on each as i weigh up its worth.

50, 50, 50: 50, 50, 50.

With one more tip on the ratio, the claws will come out of you and i will allow myself to slip away.