Unwell. Or am I?
Who's to say the past is done,
When I clean puncture wounds,
Dawn to dusk, of detritus?

Unwell. Or am I?
Who's confused and who's knowing?

Unwell. Or am I?

Merging verses, moving tiles.
Twisted memories play pretty.
Every tangent plays at once.

Who moves when I move?
Convergence hurts us all.