rubbing his arm, mod alan leans back, looking over the water. the sky finally has some sort of color to it. if only this was the universe they really lived in.
in his dreams, everything is made of cake and teeth and candy. it’s all glittering in the sun, melting, the ground is melting, so how can he stand?
he only feels alive when he’s sinking in, falling in gum as someone finally saves him, he knows it’s a dream. robby would never do that.
they kiss, adorned in flower, in gold, in razors. sirens go off in the distance, blue and red flash over their faces as they fuse together into an amalgamate of trauma.
there’s no death. no identity. the alarm sounds, it’s a danger zone. cotton candy dissolves in gasoline on the floor.
alan wakes up. of course he does. nothing was beautiful and everything hurt.