Breathing Is Optional, But I Need Some

It's Rare That I Read More Than Two Or Three Books By Any One Author, Usually Only One.

I Crush Her Against Me. I Want To Be Part Of Her. Not Just Inside Her But All Around Her. I Want Our Rib Cages To Crack Open And Our Hearts To Migrate And Merge. I Want Our Cells To Braid Together Like Living Thread.

Nothing Is Permanent. Not Even The End Of The World.

Now I’m Just Standing Here On The Conveyor. Along For The Ride. I Reach The End, Turn Around, And Go Back The Other Way. The World Has Been Distilled. Being Dead Is Easy. After A Few Hours Of This, I Notice A Female On The Opposite Conveyor. She Doesn’t Lurch Or Groan Like Most Of Us. Her Head Just Lolls From Side To Side. I Like That About Her. That She Doesn’t Lurch Or Groan. I Catch Her Eye And Stare At Her.

We Eat And Sleep And Shuffle Through The Fog, Walking A Marathon With No Finish Line, No Medals, No Cheering.