Pilates

Little aliens. Freckles of hate on her cheeks. They failed me. And I them. In all the ways humanity is supposed to save us. I drank so much that Star Trek finally made sense. In that weird way when you can overlook the paradox. Of being in a time where you've yet to exist.

He told me I was good, but could be better. To which I replied not at all. He couldn't save me. Nor I him. And what did we need saving for? All the monsters being in our heads. Or otherwise wishing they could go back there. Like the good little hells they are. Seeking the sins. Not the sinners.

There is so much to say. So much nothing.

It's easy to believe some one's listening.

Or moreso that they will remember their betrayal.