Lightyears

the monsters aren't a threat. it's i who worries them. the seasons don't change. i just forget how cold it was. how hot it is. she writes in ink. almost permanent. she measures in poisons. the choices she never made.

the engine hums inside her wormhole. eager for the rush of abandon. it's easy to go there. alone again. in lengthy confessions of wasting flesh. it's many worlds. and none. everywhere is no place. she pauses on the nail. her hammer frozen in her fist. a victim and a villain. a world she builds and then demolishes with each breath.

simple things. like love. are easy to understand. they take away everything you want. and ask that to wait for them to come back.

they scribble on the maps. and expect you to find. places you've never been. they shit in your bed and expect you to sleep in it.

All my monsters are weak. And it's sad. That they don't seem so ugly to me anymore.