lisle. d3. cbd1. (fin)

tuesday comes and
there's a new watch on your wrist.

it's some flashy thing, a conversation piece, drug money all tied up with a bow. this'll make you a man, dad said, handing out compensation like chump change because

he always got paid on tuesdays

and you don't really know why
but you'd hate his job.

because

you know how it hurts to be like this. some kind of soft. some kind of fate, cotton candy sweetness stuck in a throat, salving cuts with burnt sugar, a taste of melancholy and a name -

that they don't say here.

(he's gone.)

because there was a boy, some kind of brother, a long time ago, who had dad's eyes, and someone else's smile. who thought he could fly if he jumped off of something high enough. icarus' prodigy,

(you don't know who he was.)

there are purple flowers on the table.

that lady was at the door again today, with her wild hair and her loose clothes and her shaking hands. you watched her tap out a heartbeat from behind the door, held your breath until she gave up, falling back down the stairs.

you're supposed to avoid people like that, head down on the street, let dad do the talking. you're supposed to protect the heart stitched onto your sleeve before you get turned into something you're not. but then you pity them and that heart bleeds, holding out a hand -

(you're supposed to.)