There Are Much Worse Games To Play.

Destroying Things Is Much Easier Than Making Them.

What Will Break Me Into A Million Pieces So That I Am Beyond Repair, Beyond Usefulness?

On And On We Seal The Pages With Salt Water And Promises To Live Well To Make Their Deaths Count.

I Sit Back On My Bed Cross-legged And Find Myself Rubbing The Smooth Iridescent Surface Of The Pearl Back And Forth Against My Lips. For Some Reason, It’s Soothing. A Cool Kiss

You’re Not Leaving Me Here Alone,” I Say. Because If He Dies, I’ll Never Go Home, Not Really. I’ll Spend The Rest Of My Life In This Arena, Trying To Think My Way Out.