ceiling w/o hand me the box cutter. there is a delivery from demons seething on the porch & i'd like to let it breathe. yesterday, all the lights turned into raccoons & ravaged our trash. i wish i was them: eating coffee grounds & banana peels. fill my hands with all indulgences again. online i order a god & he comes in a shiny urn. we sit & wait for rapture. it never comes. instead our bodies float like dead balloons. last night i believed i could dig a hole in the ceiling with my bare hands. i could not.