Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.
I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off.
I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.
I, to you, am lost in the gorgeous errors of flesh.