i got something you aren't ready
to hear just yet.
it comes in ash and that's the only way
i know how to present it.
my hands stay covered in midnight
and you sleep through dawn.
you sleep and sleep while
              i lose track of time.
has it been four hours now
or eight?
this lost longing. this familiar ache.
                                      selective amnesia? yeah.
yeah, that sounds about right.
don't call it a "game,"
call it
            "waiting patiently until
the roof caves in. until we become
something not you, not even i
                                 can recognize."