we met with my eyes closed, rolled into the back of my head, awaiting the exorcist of adulthood. you, veiled in a black sheet of stars were a bitter child of mine. subconscious and clay skinned, my childish fingers formed each blurred limb of your gnarled falsity. I collected earthworms and quartz crystals and cut into them to draw out the truth of innocence on an impossibly bright playground. all the while you shaped me into a bruise that covered even the ground I stepped upon. the dirt that collected between my toes was a memory that I was filthy and would never let go.