sadder than the drying dew.

What's holding me here? Perhaps it's some disgruntled form of hope and I keep looking and looking but the sky gets so large I can barely breathe. Then there are moths in my lungs, reminding me of the beat, the beat, and I am dying. I know it because no one comes out alive. Now I am thinking of the fox... one runs the risk of weeping when one is tamed... and I can't believe that I have been tamed or perhaps it's because I am weeping. So I am swimming, swimming up streams and dusk falls and I am quiet, I am cycling and the moths are suffocating me and I look up and see the water still, I see the swallows glide and I know, tomorrow I will wake up different.

I could be anywhere, I tell myself.

put the song on repeat and watch the walls turn dark.

sitting by the sea, smoking camels and wishing you were here.

So I did.

The sky is pressing on my head and it makes me want to chop my hair off.