So much has been made of the scant hour of my life where we crossed paths. In any other life, a one night fling, a few people might know, it’s just what happens at parties, right?
Not with us. It has to be rained down from the heavens, apparently! You’re that proud. You’ve never stooped to insulting it, at least. I can admit, you were fantastic, and for all your flaws? You are gorgeous.
You’re on top of the world.
You know that’s a delicate balancing act, right? Delicacy is not something you seem capable of. This was ineveitable, you were half dried up before you even started.
That each shake that you feel under your feet is another hungry, driven body clawing its way towards you?
That there’s no way down from this pinnacle.
People don’t gracefully step down from where you are. They cling as hard as they can before they topple and fall.
Just how long can you hold onto this orgiastic thrill before it starts to fade?
Have I been clear enough, you old bitch? Your time’s up. After all your death and decay comes new life, always, blind and loud and ravenous, new.