Ambient Precision

The cellar was more than adventure enough. For dead bulbs. And that dark lamps which could not change them. It's tempting to think in hours. When the minutes are callous. I built us a fire. With her red underwear and bitten nails. Still she shivered.

I wasted years. Naming every star. As I laid on my back in the grass. Gazing up at the black. I didn't learn a thing. But it was the best time I'd ever had.

Take your bricks to the devil warned the witch. Take your daggers to your bed. It's better if you're familiar with the blood, but it's not necessary. You may come and go as you please from hell, but heaven is not so tolerant.

The limbs. The toes. The plastic fingertips. The doll. Ripping open the grave I've dug for it. The cautious motives of old men. Turning their victims into predators.

We talked about vampires. Drinking blood. And immortality. We discussed the possibility. That we would not be able to keep up.

With dead men and sluts. It's like trying to be born. And the bitch won't let me out. All the walls were brick. The ceiling is mud.

Still. There was little I could build. That he wasn't able to knock down.

She came to me with the formula. Eager to begin the process. She came to me empty handed. Hopelessly in love.

It's all the same I told her.

It was years ago. It was years from now.

We don't change. It changes us.