302//365 / by Rebecca Tillett

302//365
302//365

(302//365) The city swallowed you whole, but you climbed its walls to spite its fervor, digging your fragile claws into the merciless concrete, yearning to escape and inflate your lungs with the unstained air. Run like wildfire, baby, before they gauge your eyes from their sockets, before the hollowed savages press their sawlike teeth into your penetrable flesh and tear, tear, tear, before they build cathedrals of your bones and deify your conquered soul. Run like wildfire before they wolf your fractured heart down their eager throats, delighting in your sweetness splashing warmly inside their cold greedy mouths, before they consume you with bleak brutality. Run like wildfire before they make you hard and soured. Stay soft and good, baby. And run like wildfire.