Touch the sky with me and we can fly, fly, fly away from these places, wrong faces, all the traces of the spaces we created between our lonely hearts and forgotten minds; the parts of us that shouldn't exist crying in their cavernous pinholes, echoing and rupturing in feeling through the waves of something more, something undeniable and true. The pinprick in which my emotions are contained is gargling with a blood that pours black yet, as it trickles through me, I can feel it restoring beauty to the yellowed valleys of my skin.