see yourself
looking down on them
through the upstairs window
once again.

see the shimmering fish
below, the fountain full of papers;
some wishes do not sink
but instead float on the surface.

then see how
you still are the same.
the walls move around you
in a microcosmic orbit.

look, look
you're never first.
they've locked you out of their heads.
you are the papers in the fountain.

all that remains, for you,
is a story you can tell yourself
when the murmurs get too low,
your very own wolf on the wall.

everyone has a name here.
but you must now forget that title;
leave yourself and lead yourself
into the darkness in the corner.