yeah, i think he is

Buffy: Will, it's okay. You don't have to make him the bad guy.

Willow: But that's the best friend's job. Vilifying and grousing.

Buffy: Usually, yeah. But he's right. I mean, I think, maybe in the long run, that he's right.

Willow: Yeah, I think he is. I mean, I tried to hope for the best, but... I'm sorry. It must be horrible.

Buffy: I think horrible is still coming. Right now, it's worse. Right now, I'm just trying to keep from dying. (Her face contorts in pain.)

Willow: Oh, Buffy.

Buffy leans over into Willow's lap and starts sobbing.

Buffy: I can't breathe, Will. I feel like I can't breathe.

a brief & heartbreaking documentary history

slghtr

I'm not listening to you anymore
My head is too sore
and my heart's perforated
I'm mired in the marrow of
my well-ain't-that-funny bone
learning how to be alone
and devastated

where was my conscience
where was my consciousness

Ars Corpus

Improbable body, folding against
another’s flesh, the rhythm
of a stranger’s heart, a pulse at once
corroded and distinct, the
wings of a hummingbird -
intractable earth, the beat of the sea
on the tongue. Unsung, the body warps,
inviolate. The head of a drum
that crumbles when struck. I love
in the meritless language of sleep -
a mouth of foreign teeth,
blue vein beneath skin. A thing
that hums, elusive. Beloved
gut, bell-rung, hip-deep.

Clear the room, there's a fire, a fire, a fire!

maybe when i die

Stupid Things

Wide floors, eastern windows, tea drawer, groaning shelves, salt crust, clean socks, three cats, shoulder blades, stacked jam, ink stains, garden tunnel, humming wind! The webs where the wall met the ceiling. The cloudy-mouthed piano. A grin. A smattering. A bed that's ours.