While the wax is drying I write different endings to our story
They always include the ceremony she suggested
where we lick bee syrup off each other’s fingers

The Abbey of Crime offers none of the playful indulgences of the arcade…As Delcan explains, "there were plenty of games of immediate gratification and this was clearly not one of them."

you are what keeps us here
life is a race

trauma is a baton
you place in my hands

Imagine a society where we had empathy for those with opposing views. Imagine a society where we read more and fought less.

No one trusts the city streets any longer, and the streets trust no one either. The buildings, too, tip their gutters to pour their algae onto mute life.

I’ve figured out other things too, things that would be obvious to anyone but me, like how those friends weren’t really my friends. They were Buddy’s. And going our own ways would feel like nothing.