PartyFingers

It all comes down to this: Countless lifetimes. Played out in in dreams and parables. Two hearts wrapped in ice. Floating cold and dead. A million tiny twists of fate. A few strings pulled with precision. I'm stripping all the pictures from the walls. Pulling up the floorboards. Cutting off my skin. Washing my bones with bleach. "Hello stranger, it's a pleasure to meet you." I'm not a boy, I'm just bones. Make of me what you will. This has never happened before. My. Hands. Are. Shaking.

Is this a dream? I'm trying to collect all these scattered pieces, distinguishing truth from metaphor, so maybe I can eventually remember who I used to be. It's Christmas Eve night, I'm in my parent's house. The livingroom is bathed in the golden glow radiating from the tree, it's around midnight, and the scent of freshly baked gingerbread still hangs in the air. He's sprawled out asleep on the couch under one of my mom's quilts. A faint smile graces his delicate features. I know he must be dreaming of something beautiful, and I forget what I'd even gone downstairs for in the first place. Fade out. I'm standing in the hallway of this shitt

When I sleep, I sleep for days, he said, As he buried himself in the dirt, I ride glass trains underwater so I can see the tourists drowning, I only swim with corpses when I visit waterfalls,