If the battle is over but everyone is dead, how do you know it’s over? Who decides What came first, humans or despair? Did it crawl inside of us or did we crawl inside of it? It’s warm where the flesh, which is yours, meets the mistake, which is an open mouth on the bed in your room, tongue like a serpent, like something lost and frantic. If you keep going will it settle down? These are the hard questions. What do you call a punch line when there isn’t a joke for it? Why did the chicken cross the road and why didn’t you? How many licks does it take to get to the center of loneliness? Yes, the tree still makes a sound, and yes, you will still want to disappear even if no one is around to snap you out of it.

Listen to all the cars screeching to a halt outside of your window.
Listen to the engines rumbling softly.
Listen to how they are all saying, “Get through this. Get through this.”

When does being brave not look like being brave?
When is the princess not a princess?
When is the hero not a hero?

Who cares. Save yourself.
Screw the story.

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