She was the epitome of fragile beauty: lips slightly parted, rosy flush tinting the apples of her cheeks, raven hair framing her face. I knelt there, holding her wrist, touching the papery skin that shielded her blue-green veins. A ball of unshakeable guilt weighed down my chest.

It was mid-November, 1983 when James first got sick. It started with a dry cough and exhaustion; in all ten years that Edward had been with him, the occasional affliction was nothing out of the ordinary.

Tomorrow my heart will thunder.
rain will pour like a thousand tiny words

summer can swallow me whole.
I’m ready for an ending

the sunlight can eat me alive.
lay me down in the backyard.
I’ll fall right through the grass

part 1: carmine
you want to see my heart?
go on then
haha
not what you expected?
here’s a secret: it never is.
oh, look at that— it’s still trying to beat
but the mice are already gnawing.
was that a grimace? how rude.