Gravestones and shaking hands and the music of ages that kiss your lips as you stand there waiting for the taxi to take you away from the stench of disinfectant and decay. Illness and stranded lives and neglected dogs hiding in a block of deserted garages overgrown with weeds and stained with ancient oil and the lingering scent of teenage piss. Closing your eyes, those zombie stars you read about in yesterday’s papers flow through your veins as do the memories of one-night stands you wish you could shake but can’t. We all make mistakes. We all give in. The trick is in not giving up, even when it’s the only thing that seems to make sense. Districts pass and buildings wave goodbye. People cross the road and shake their fists at the sky. Children throw stones at buses and druggies seek oblivion behind closed eyes from the torture of their ordinary and boring lives. Empty rooms. Empty minds. Sex as a weapon, and sex as a currency. Images that pervert, and perverts that seek boundaries knowing the point of no return lies just beyond. Those zombie stars, and those kids who deserve so much more. They stick around when you shower, and they stick around when you prepare your food only to break down and curl into a ball on the kitchen floor. Clutching the knife you were slicing up your chicken with, you want to stab yourself in the neck and not feel a thing, but instead, you let it go and crawl into bed. The patterns on the curtains remind you of being a little girl. All those moments when there was no tomorrow. Those bubbles of time and space when you laughed with friends not caring about anything other than the butterflies in your heart and the animals that danced in circles within your belly. There’s something inside of you, and despite all of these words, I still can’t explain what it is. It takes my breath away and shakes me to my bones, for the storm you bring obliterates everything.