^

There is a boy who steals sleep from the gods and sells it for a dollar fifty,

filthy fragments of damaged dreams that taste of rainwater and immortality,

and later, when you wake, you will feel clean again,

but cold,

and you know that to be mortal is to be warm in the wrong ways,

all hot tears and ugly laughter and something that feels uncomfortably close to love,

but we are not gods,

and life is too short to spend asleep.