CORDELIA BECK
the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides and a dark wind blows. it went like this: the buildings tumbled in on themselves. mothers clutching babies picked through the rubble, and pulled out their hair. the skyline was beautiful on fire all twisted metal stretching upwards, everything washed in a thin orange haze. you grabbed my hand and we fell into it, like a day dream or a fever. we woke up one morning and fell a little further down, for sure it's the valley of death.
