augustine, what have you done to me? i should feel wildfires without guilt i should tremble on the cusp between wishing i could be entirely consumed and wishing i could erupt. we should shiver without fear of melting retribution. god can hold the candle that drips hot wax on my nape, i don't believe they hate what they create. augustine, you've made me unclean. we spend hours smearing acid between two bodies, don't we erode our impurities?