these walls have my life story etched into them impermanently. the wallpaper is peeling and the cobwebs are clinging to the ceiling. can something be just as sacred as the rot it portrays? can something consume a half as easily as a whole? the rabbits that live down the street will mourn the death of their loved one, bleeding out in the parking lot of my apartment. if anything could've saved me from this, i would have stumbled upon it long ago.