Black

Light the candles, sing the song, another year goes by and the frosting holds up despite the humidity. Swipe right to prove to yourself you have some humanity left, although most of it sifts through your fingers like sand. Put this away till morning. No good comes of speaking into the void on a Friday night with a half drunk bottle of wine on the floor. The sunburn itches on my thigh.

This'll all look different in the morning.