Memories are easy to ridicule. I drowned their passports and lit fires in their bathrooms. I hoped they would hit me, cut me. I wanted everyone I loved to kill me. If I wanted forever I would have brought a camcorder. It’s hard to forget someone’s greatest mistake: It’s hard to say Joy without seeing a face. Blackmail should require some planning. Switches should only be flicked when you need light. I burn every famous cock in my phone like potential evidence in an open investigation. I’m left with a thought that becomes fantasy. Don’t worry. I misremembered. Dance. Dance.
Brandon Shane’s work has appeared in Rattle, One Art, and The Marrow. He serves as an editor at Odd Lobster.