I know not much is said
when my sentence ends.

It’s intentional,
like sarcasm.
How do I avoid
puddles when the crevices span
the storyline?
Will discontent be cooled in the splash?

Promises and certainty are
when decision slices through
Pieces of permanent
pasted together in an attempt
to feel familiar in what is framed,
the art of indifference.

To choose is to lose
not worth keeping;
the impact of good-bye
is enough to catch my breath
on a question mark.
It dangles on a hook,
punctured and defeated;
the choice is never enough
to warrant a conclusion…

I will jump
with my eyes closed,
in hope during the time it takes to
drown beautifully.