when the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake, spooks come out for a swinging wake
a taste was in my mouth, and it was refreshing; not the chemical and awful taste that has lingered there for days but the memory of a jawbreaker, all sugar shell and food colouring. the taste is halloween, and i realise that i am looking forward to that, to the fall cool, to the enormous bowl of candy, to the smell of the plastic and polyester costumes, and the makeup, a creamy dirty scent, and the faux webs and smokey fog that smells like chalk. the darkness, and the fake scares, and the odd unity, the communal loveliness of a holiday.
nice to dream of, or to anticipate something purely, without the caveats, or at least without them at first, which is enough.
a brief moment not to think about the future in sick and not sick, hair or no hair, strength or days in bed, but to think of it as the series of events and holidays that cycle so reasonably, marking time in the tenderest way.
nice to dream of, or to anticipate something purely, without the caveats, or at least without them at first, which is enough.
a brief moment not to think about the future in sick and not sick, hair or no hair, strength or days in bed, but to think of it as the series of events and holidays that cycle so reasonably, marking time in the tenderest way.