the space above my ears.

Thorazine

In a dream, you and I sit in the row of seats second-closest to the back.

We are laughing, both of us, but not for the same reason.

I catch my breath and look to you.

You look back, eyes wide and impossibly dark, begging to be corrupted.

I want to.

Corrupt you, that is.

I want to take you and make you capable of ripping me apart, capable of tracing your tongue so slowly to outline my jagged edges and seal them up like an envelope.

In just my mind, you want it like that too.

You want my territory marked upon you and you want to be owned, or at least feel like you are.

I know that I'm deceiving myself, I'm many things and self-aware is one of them, but in and of itself, that could be a bias too.

If I die young, someone will read this. If I disappear off the face of the planet, you'll know what happened to me.

If I die young, someone will read this, unless it has been destroyed or made illegible; if that be the decided fate of my creations, there will be no evidence of my mistake.

It's my fault, I have swallowed them whole in my greed and now any part of me qualifies as an exit.

If I die young or disappear, promise me you'll pretend you were weak with adoration for me.

Tell them you could have loved me for as long as you are, with all that you are,

With such ferity that if all the leaves on all the trees were tongues, they could not declare it.

Tell them I could have meant everything if it weren't for your own indecision.

Tell them I was worth your time, even if it's not true.