My mirrors in my house will show you that
even when we stand in my highest atmosphere
and neither of us can breathe
you can still feel your fingertips.

I've got no chance and nothing to say.
I just wanna look with you
push through my ribcage and touch my wounds
and keep it open where it longs to close

Its strong solid force transcends health,
It emits stillness slowly and incessantly.
From the space between the twist in a Klein bottle
and the tips of my knees where all my weight is,
I leave, like my hand from the stove.