do i want to lie flat in your prison cells? perhaps not. but i do know that the curse of our words is that they will one day swap out our air for oxygen, and we will breathe ink down our throats; gasping for sound.
it is inevitable. these vestiges of mind matchless to those who give chase - we who disappear like ghosts - one day to resurface - our bodies in exchange. we will be beaten by batons, cut open by silver: a cuff for a tongue. we perish for our