I’m not sure if it did, I did not hear cracks.
As my head is pressed into the chest of a
brother I have not known love from,
pulling me into him as he cries a cry
I did not know
could come out of him.
“Bell, I am so sorry.
Fuck, I am so sorry.”
The only words that can come from my mouth are an all-encasing
I cry in his arms as mascara paints his pale chest.
A mural, a dance of our life-long hatred.
this moment, preserved in a jam jar.
McKenna says the world will end at 1:50
I wake up at 1:51.