the darkness is fragile as i turn the page. small cuts fester. we spend our ache in small coins. accumulating impossible debts. wasting years trying to determine what’s worth saving.
the end is not a place we arrive at. it’s a gun pointed at our face.
we can grow old waiting for someone to pull the trigger. or we can bite the barrel and embrace blood.
you imagine i am lost, but i’ve never been more certain.
you remember me soft, but my skin has grown hard. .
life shimmers and turns. all heavy picnic baskets and wolves in grandmother’s bed.
the fairy tale breaks open. and all the monsters are exposed.
no happy endings.
just the the final page. our soiled fingerprints staining every last word.