A year has passed. This summer's a lot hotter
than the last. Do you remember when
you turned eighteen? Now I am eighteen, too.
I did it without you.
You ran out of butane not long ago, stopped
lighting me afire. I require
something greater now, something monstrous. I am leaping
into the pits and opposites of pits:
The city will sift me to ash.
The lasting flashes will reduce me
to a girl of marrow.
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I woke up wet-skinned.
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