hiver

Explain these things to me, like the taste of sin and why black light is really blue. Console me - your lips taste like truth and make me ashamed to have ever enjoyed the licorice flavor of lies. Maybe hold me, as though the world were shaking itself to death and we were the only humans left to watch, or how you would grip a dying child, crying softly as we rock. But don't leave me - that's fear in a thimble, so distilled the scent could kill by sending my mind into overdrive. Promise me, the way we swore promises when we were young, as informal as assumption; you'll take me with you. Perhaps before you. I'll admit I read your mail; the ticket to Heaven said to bring a friend.