It wouldn’t be
the kind of magic you shoot...

the already
cramped space...

We shapeshift
like ephemeral metal...

Would it be justice
to declare...

we ate our guilt together
under the quiet luminosity...

Fake descriptions of a life in tatters
clutter the hour...

was there ever a way
to mend the severance...

I remember you
bandaged...

and on the last day,
our very last day...

There is fleeting meaning
in existing as a tiny...

**Trigger warning: self harm**
the edge of death...

drafty quiet embankments
of sanctuary under the blankets...