No prose tonight comrades, no. The moon should be honored with only literallity.

Tonight is a funeral.

To close this door... I wouldn't admit to it being troubling, but I cannot deny mourning, either. These past ten years gave birth to our union, my hollow shell finding consciousness in your light. All that we've accomplished, fought for, and gained. Memories of our dearest friends that we have kissed goodbye, our dear sweet friends. A lingering warm glow created by those glittering pieces falling in the darkness... making out out in the back of a shit box Celebrity to its owners resentment only as children, sobbing in joy on the floor of our empty apartment finally as adults. Least of all, I'm effectively committing my incunabula to its grave, and for a soul that has lived so vividly on the pain and anger of youth, what could possibly be left in the world?

To sleep again on the silent shores of King's County, I would I happily burn my neon ballroom.

Oh non rein de rein, oh non je ne regrette rien.

Despite what has begun, hasn't there been enough tragedy? Hasn't there been enough hardships and trials? For all the fun, and for all warm beginnings, the pleasant memories are only pleasant because we choose to let go of the pain and blood that was necessary to create them. The beautiful shielded existence we've created was built on top of the unconsecrated corpses of those old points of view. For all this, I would gladly pour dirt on the dead cold faces of my former selves.

Today is a birthday.

Let us kill this decade with shining shards and throw flowers to the spirits of our dead memories. Our selfish love will kill all but the fields of fantasy, and I couldn't be happier in that. Progression shall flourish.

I would burn all our bridges to create the world I wish to live in. Or just for fun...

If you're five five five...

Destroy Once Done