firewood, while being carefully arranged into the archetypal pyramid, says actually i was thinking maybe we could get dinner? maybe we could go to that new italian place, wear our good shirts, make a whole evening of it, leave the matches at home?
maybe, hey? maybe we throw the matches out. maybe we take all the matches and the lighters and the exposed electric wires and we pile them in the car, drive out to the coast and throw them in the sea.
firewood says i get i’m not good for much now, what with how you cut through my spine and i died and left to my own devices, all i’ll do is rot, but actually, i think i want to rot? actually, considering the chainsaw, i don’t want to light your way or warm your bones,
actually, when a tree falls in a forest while a chainsaw shouts timber it does make a sound, but you can never hear it, what with the chainsaw,
and actually, i’m sick of my raging grief being drowned out by your triumphant roar. i was thinking, maybe i could get dinner, and you could contort yourself into a predetermined shape, break yourself into jagged aching pieces, and then slowly but dramatically crumble into ash,
actually, i was thinking, if anything here should burn, i want it to be you.
this is available as part of Study Of, a mini collection you can buy as a pdf for £4!
Verylisa 