This twitch inside my core, the essence of the star slut I’m from (I’m sure) – to smother it with my palm would bring a pleasure eclipsing them all. A gun to the head, water through the lungs would fall short. Dreams that outnumber the sands of locating this demon shard, this granule of vim that went and had me and raised and fastened me- one of these nights I’ll reach my hand into my throat and put it out; put us out cold and sweet.