No matter what you say, I will not become your sculpture. No matter how much I feel or come to feel, I'll not melt into something unreal, so distant from my own two hands that I carry a branding of mercenary and cunning.

It is not a blind corner. I don't have evil plans.

You're the exception.

But it's too late to draw this out in a rhythm with my hands, too late to make it obvious or clear, to convince you of anything. You saw some of this coming, but mostly he's curious. And even if it all comes out, the walls become transparent and reveal every room, there will be still just one secret. It's of the origin, the Eden of my soul.

No matter what, I keep the door open. I feel the wave shaking the earth beneath my feet and I know full well that a breaking point is on the horizon. I know in that moment, we'll see a kind of transcendence materialize between us, and there will no longer be options....like hanging around to see what happens.

Instead, we will fall
into that
abyss

like a long-awaited
slumber after
the journey of our lives
that ravaged
ravaged
an insomnia
that lasts for years