or i'll tear to pieces the writer's room

i smile as it crumbles around me: my own mind. all the beams tearing loose of their bases, the rooms coming apart at their foundations, drywall-white and empty black. i have used spit and brute strength to hold it together too long – now it is over, and now it is tumbling, unraveling like a thread. and it is beautiful.

i smile: this world going to dust.

- abby // prompt for anon