never be certain. everyone's a tragedy. ticking. everyone's a tragedy holding in them the most sacred lonely girl drinking wine. running it over her tongue in small circles to taste so deep. it gets better with age. pouring, sipping, waiting. sipping, pouring, sipping, waiting. it will happen. cyan is ticking. it's the moon's color. it's the color of a lifeless body. the final color of humanity. it's creeping up our fingertips. do we hold pulses or merely ticks?