we bury ourselves alive everyday. these houses are nothing but coffins clouding the sky. i cross this room. i kiss the floor. and maybe tonight i’ll sleep at the ceiling. for some memories are pathogentic like poison but we swallow them anyway. “if sanity fails, try sentiment!” is what i was told three years ago. and there once was a time when i felt comfortable among others. another life lost. the most personal drama is that distance is such a silent hunter. and it’s killing us constantly. and so we lost our faces long ago. when we look into mirrors we don’t even miss them. and even if we did they’d never come back for sure. my hands have grown numb but still i keep trying to hold everyone and everthing i love. i often think it might be pointless like hiding behind windows. but at least it’s something i won’t ever regret and i hope it’s something i will never forget.