smoke ventilates like sweat from stress
hand on head, ritual for want of death. You step out for open air and find yourself at a cliff edge, where the stars of the little man
blink back at you
reminded of the people who bled the floor you suction too, and gasp, the notion brought by the sight ahead, to fall is to fly and to change you must divide
a life is threaded, indispensable
to mankind
?