hansel

It was a Monday, a hot, sweaty beast, irrelevant like the rest of them: our bastard children. I kidnapped each day. Once you looked at them all, stacked up and breeding, they were a long, thin, number of years, spent in perpetuity, chasing the television as it ran for long nights; the din and the distance between our words. I wont claim I knew anything more than this that night. It was beautiful when you came knocking.

What an exciting time to have a conscience, I thought, unceremoniously as you snored, a gaping hole, a wound to your soul. Whats worse, still, there hasnt been much use for it, when calling out a name, to amble, be reckless.

Tonight something irreplaceable fell out of one open window, slipped through the cracks. And somehow I know its safe, clearing lanes in traffic. Thin papers just as lost as when Id created them. If you love something, let it go. If it stalks back, and kneels over your sleeping body, pressing its lips against yours, you know its a fucking pervert.