Servitude in Pretty Dresses

I don't know how to pick a peach, but I do know how to eat one. Bite hard. And swift. Let the juices run down your chin staining your clothes in sticky traces of the flesh you've consumed.

Then wear those clothes until everyone you encounter can almost taste what was inside you.

The only difference between sedatives and amphetamines are the people who take them. Same reason. Different methods. Every addiction is born in childhood. Some dark face you can't recognize, but fingers you won't forget. Every savior is doused in blood because how else could we relate to them. Recovery is a failure of sorts. A failure to manage our pain with the treatments we've chosen. A failure to prove the art we've made truly belongs to us.

I don't know how to execute a dream, but I do know how to have one. Go to sleep assuming you'll never wake up.

I don't know how to draw a circle, but I do know they're seldom perfect.

I didn't pick the peach, but I tasted it. Summer. Moons I hadn't seen in ages. Arguments explaining why it's never dark enough to see what's above us.

I don't know what hope there is hidden past the stars, but I do know how to find them.

Turn off the lights.

Stop seeing what isn't there.