Sown Shut

There will come a day when you outlive all of your pinky swears. Everything up until this point has been some variety of a talisman or curfew in dress. The bad thing knows your name, where you stay, and hours of operation. Ritualize your clock. Make every minute a part of an indestructible order that does not exist. A bulwark of fantasy is coming down. Manners are the first domino. The mason jar that was repurposed for a toll on foul language has been violently breached. Did you know of this development? The lid is nowhere to be seen with dollar bills and chards of glass strun about the floor. A theme park visit is not the priority now. Even a simple pizza party should be the last of your worries. The bad thing has finally crawled out. It is not enough to trace the headstone of a single parent. It is only upon the departure of the second one that the bad thing will seduce wonderfully. You can already see your breath. It will not get any warmer from this point. Notice how the mercury has shrunken in abject fear. The bad thing wants to remove pity. It wants you strong. Every effort to quarantine the bad thing has become an argument for its convincing power. You have reached out to the beautiful ones in full sight of them closing their ranks. You have made yourself available to sages with no reply. The well leveraged have fortified their halls against your entry. What is left in the biting cold save an old prohibition outstretching its hand without so much as a scarf. It will not shame you. Everything you have esteemed as worthy and upright does not answer back. The pastels colors of springtime never gave you a chance. They can shine a flashlight into your mouth and eyes. You can be referred out to specialist after specialist, or you can say yes where you once said no. Perhaps it is time to reunite with a friend torn from you before the acquisition of speech. That's not so bad. ‍ ‍