Maybe I could tell you something by the way I crafted holes into my own being. Maybe you can understand me in the space.

You line up against the words, spine cracking against the scratched up wall, and tears drip from your soft chin to the hard tile floor.

So I smile, and I scream. My voice rebounds in echoes across the mountainside, my spirit dancing in the zenith of cosmos and sound and being. ​I want to ask what road I'm traveling. I wonder if I'm moving.

It is dreamlike, and I fall into a trance watching it dance in the air.
​It's slow and careless in the way it moves: sinking rising, sweeping softly like airborne dust.