Two plus two is seven. Three plus three makes nine. My math isn’t bad, I’ve just left the world behind.

When all I want is poison, and all I need is time, every wall is plastered with a face and begging eyes.

I feel it in my stomach and digest it in my lungs. When every breath is calculated, I forget what I once sung.

More is more for nothing. It exists in fantasy. In a place without consequence, I will let her lick my teeth.

I’ll hear her muffled scream from the carpet in the dark and do everything I can to let her tear my world apart.