achilles raze you've named your companion animal for the greatest of all greek warriors, brought down by an arrow to the heel. those eight letters say so much about who you are and how you understand that to separate sorrow from joy would be to rob our lives of the metamorphic rock that feeds the surrounding soil. you close the doors that darken my room, muffling as much of the din as you dare. when dreams refuse to find me, i slither on my stomach across cream-coloured carpet. i find you writing on the ghost of a fallen birch tree in ink as thick as ichor. two red words answer a question that hasn't yet been asked. i throw my head back and howl, embracing what's wild in me. you bare your teeth and grin. and this is how we begin. 250514 what's it to you? who go blather from