it’s the seldom drug that does the most damage.
it’s soft. the way the void opens. feathers falling from wings. the summer licking its lips. it’s sudden. the transition from now to then.
we don’t live. we ripen. over time growing sweeter.
but inevitably. eventually we rot.
until only the core remains. full of seeds. and we have no place to plant them.
it’s fragile. the needle that mends us. it’s slender. the thread that connects. we’re always strangers when we close our eyes.
we peel back the skin, but its empty underneath.
our lives dance and stab at the meat. but it’s the flesh that we want.
we’re falling rain on each others windows. close enough to touch. but always on the other side of the glass.