the days are pouring nectar down my throat so thick and sweet that it makes my teeth brittle in exhalation to life
and he tastes like spiced wine, in-toxicating and scalding as he elevates me the way a lift carries you as high as you ask it as high as it’s able
He laughs: Burn Your Feet flying through inexorable hours you once spent languishing in despondence
Reach out with both your hands for Death and screech your joy when She recoils, smiling
I’m shaking apart inside
Tremors that are too fine to be seen or felt
Maybe i can hear them though? If I listen v carefully
I’m not really sure why.
Maybe minds are meant to fall apart when they’re as delicately stitched together as mine?
Ooh or I’m picking at the metaphorical seams because I’m just so godsdammed bored!
Let’s make this an intentional thing
Consequences of choices are always easier to stomach
Even if they’re shitty
Learn to trust your audience, right?
You’re all such bright young things.
Your capable and endlessly receptive.
Just Like me.