(no subject)
thin in reality and solid in shadow, i am peddling catchalls to actuaries. i, myself, am no guarantee. i am giving up old ghosts to make room for the new. you, comrade, are a specter of disillusion, and all i ask is for you to delude me further. dilute me. i am a box half-full of memories slipping through the cardboard corners like sand. there are no ties, no attachments between my atoms. i will fall apart and i will fall through.