(smote savants)

My brain is the hair on the back of her neck after she learned this was the last time she'd ever get to live the lie before time found it's own special line on catching up and spread her face along the nightly.

But even then. even still it didn't matter. life went right on as it fucking should even when the feedback level was rising to critical mass and all we could do was choke back the idea that we'd left truth for a cheap thrill. safe as anything that'd killed us before but so much, so fucking much more permament in fulfilling the adequacy of living.

And so we gave up again.

Just to sleep like babes in the empty arms of forgetting.