It’s a subtle end. A thousand shallow breaths, too shy to snuff a barely burning flame. The incremental, suffocating boredom of a healthy home. Protects. Warms. Kills. Security, link by wholesome link, wraps its chain around the neck stuck out and pulls. Soft and slow and gentle, we go into the night. Blankets over minds and hearts. Ears and eyes shut tight. And so we sleep. TV and serums on. Dreaming. Wick treading wax for a little while, until it drowns.
Butterfly Press 