I fit you like a pair of concrete shoes; malis

[sleaze]

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife There was a girl, he’d said, and her response is expected but still causes a shudder to run through him: There were two girls. It’s like a mantra, a quiet one shared between them, a fever-dream they share because whatever the illness they were stricken with affected them both, was imbued in every neuron now. But they came out of it different. She heals, he possesses. (They are both unraveling – unraveled – all the same.) Her mouth is at his neck, hot, and he thinks again of fevers – she burns with something he both fears and envies, something entrenched in the veins of her. Her eyes gleam with something he recognizes, feels in the marrow of his spine but does not want to name it. (Calling her mad means he himself is mad, as well.) “Malis,” he says her name, says it again, “Malis, what happened?” He asks what happened but in truth he asks what did you do, what did you do. He thinks for a moment of touching her mind, finding out – but he is frightened, for he is ultimately a cowardly boy. (He is frightened her mind will feel too much like home, that the poison will taste like something sweet.) sleaze cancer x garbage

this had a better ending but then it was time to leave work D: