five minutes in and i feel the collision of desire and death; that cling to you sticky sense that it all leads to an ending of a beginning. all those tucked away reckless notions of self-destruction they peek their dyed heads out to whisper at you; fabricating the realm of fuckwits and faerie tales. want a piece of dark chocolate to go with your next beautiful mistep in judgement? tripping and falling with daisy chains wrapped about each ankle; you pull me along into a trance of indecision. die on the vine, and coerce my skin to wake up. again.