I feel the damage escalating. It doesn't fade. It amplifies. It rides. On everything. These are more floors than I have imagined, I didn't know you could reach up so high with such intensity. The lights made the spiral a memorable fairy tale like effect. The truth won't set you free, it chases you into the opposite direction with your own version of saving. Further into the ground you descend with the cold hard metal plates servicing your last stand.

You got off wrongly they said.

But where did you begin in the first place?

Hands were made to hold.

Even though I am only seeing, watching them now.

Guess it's true, things that you can 't loose are the things that you don't have.

Just like how reality last longer without it's actual existence.

The only place we pass each other in haste; never colliding.

And every time I hear the noise overhead, I wish I could capture you here.

At the in between.

Maybe we were the ones that initiated their downfall. We pushed them in the direction of this impending chain reaction. The fault should be on us. We thought it was adorable, rather that was how we created monsters in our blunder; visual inclination maladies.

You shot me a sunset, the least I could do was return a sunrise.

Tonight, I told my little heart, do not be bitter.

That was the birth of those cold chills which took advantage of that slit in my chest to seep in.

Desperate to string these sentences even more so to will myself to say it out in the open. He cries for her. What do I have to cry to. I feel like a ghost. Rather, I am crying to ghosts. The smudged yellow imperfections concealed these invisible chains put in place and time. This is driving me insane; I am in a constant struggle of the intangible which is sapping my physical state and conscious mind. It haunts me, having to stay and remain. I don’t seem to be going anywhere. A task that I hate. An emotion that is queer which I can never own and in every possible way wrong and forbidden. I am dancing in tragedies, stroking and fostering self inflicted wounds like a hospitality centre. How long does each distraction last? Before we find ourselves running to the next.

You know that feeling whereby you are everything yet nothing at the same time. The knife balancing itself at the flesh waiting for that slip to gash.