so then it’s sewn up now, strung up with two ft. hair follicles that drip from cracks in the ceiling;
and we’re both standing there staring at it. I hold you up so that you’re not so short, you pretend like you’re flying to heaven. I pretend I’m the angel giving you one final push before my wings fully give out.

so then you and your short hair manages to brush my chin when I put you down again. from the ceiling a hand stretches out and it’s screaming, “god fuck it, god fuck it. God Fuck It.”
like a damned soul you and I both grimace only slightly. we are damned, we are souls. there’s one hundred seven billion others of us. eventually they all learned that they aren’t special, them in there little cubes on some plane of tartarus. pixels, now. we’ll get there someday, when we stop being human.

so then the hand grabs at you. I squeeze your chubby cheeks and learn to fly again. I send myself straight up. And it burns.
I stare back at myself. Still down there, [human]. I want to shoot you in the heart. I want to scramble your brains so you don’t have to wait in this room for yourself. So you don’t have to be me anymore.

so then i watch you age. four years. and the door behind you opens.
you step into the room. You pick yourself up. and you are no longer human.