Furrowed trenches. We arm with contrition. It is my right to doubt. As the world grows dimmer. I lay awake. Dreamless. Stretched between stakes. I lay awake while the dark speaks in over-whelming shapes. Heave ho… You torrid malcontent. Heave ho… You horrid twisted miscreant. I hear the weight of nothing pressed thickly upon me. All are leaving. It is my right to doubt. As all things descend deeper.

Adrift, as it would seem… Tossed and turned upon the sea… All questions they call to anchor… Visions flicker and fade all along this horizon… We claw your flesh as if it holds the answer…

In this room. A young woman lies in bloom. Slips in and out of silhouette. Inside a home. Inside a tomb. Clenches fists and bites at limbs. She clamps her thighs as sweat trickles down her slender spine. It has all been done before. Undeserving. Everything is as it has always been. Perspiring desperately upon wooded floors. the shadows grow longer. And still they wander. All is gold and ash while youthful fingers ponder. The familiar mysteries of every past age. The characters play out their parts on the ceiling. Phantoms fleeting across a barren, immortal stage.

Roam… Home is Where you make it darling. Roam… Home is where you find your love. I’m an echo. In the hollow nether. Looking for contours. Forming lonely shapes.