you would hide right here as your sole hobby, trusting me, never honoring the frivolous. you would rest underneath my crook of my arm where you found it a bit sweet even against all of that sour. our two formed pieces of flesh would merge into one and synergy would come in the form of energy and for a moment i would feel that we could be god. but only if we were an i.
i used to write to prisoners regularly as one of my sole hobbies. they would begin to trust me. i let them hide in the verbiage and not worry about the darkness. their cold narratives rested inside of me and i found a bit of sweetness even against all of the sour. two separate realities merged into one understanding through the letters and synergy came in the form of energy and for a moment the pages felt like they could be a bible. but only if they were a book.
people used to burn books. people still burn books. people will burn all of the books.
these days, they claim they just like to “kindle fire.”