there’s a torn out piece of paper, from some lost old manuscript. it’s not from my head guv’, honestly it ain’t. there’s a barely legible passage fading in your sunlight, and this is what it says: the death of a boy, in just one easy payment. beauty? thank you, you really are too kind. i mean that in all dear sincerity. this boy cannot live any longer: this book was his respirator, but he’s now been unplugged. some people never stop running. they run so fast, they never know what they have, until they stop and look back. but by then it’s all disappeared. this time, just this one time, though: there is no decay. i will not let you fall apart for me. running round in circles, marking the leaves with our hooves, reminds me of something. clockwork? no; just the faint tick-tick-tocking of someone else’s cogs. a spiral that seems too short to matter. sure, i’ll be your disposable hero. let’s hold hands and sing along, pretend we care and still have our little faces. you lust for sweet decay? you’ll find none here, but if i can be your humble, please allow me to decoy while you beat yourself to death.
