"It's cold."

"But you need to do this."

"But it's so cold."

"Same stimulation."


Press.

Harder.

Now quickly, do it.

I lay awake only to find myself hopeless and lost within the rummage sale of my mind. This of course, run purely by donation only. My fearless leader, myself, trapped and dislocated. I am my only creator, my purest destination, my tasteful revenge. And you, my salvation.

My salvation. My postmortem. All without the ability to take me for all of my entirety. For this I sin. Sin against faith and vow. My heart now undesirable in the eyes of its keeper.

Without hesitation; lack return. For it is without a beat and without apparel.
My lips have memorized every ounce of integrity that yours shared with mine. My palms freeze in admiration only to find themselves empty.