Your sitting in the cabin of woods, far from old sighs and tribulations.
Like saliva, your current dame forms through a process of aural nothings on the couch most adjacent your heart.
The cabin is attempting its second suicide this month; burning itself from the inside, kitchened soul, out.
The dame says nothing but thats not what you need.
Your needs exceed the gritting anger of blue and orange flame.
You feel the delicate hairs of your foot dissolve from these blues and oranges; the horror of human carbonation is a 90 year rainbow.
The dame says nothing but thats not what you need.
You need the dame to cough up bricks and sea of vocabulary that bring you back to your nostalgic rave.
The mute dame is louder than the fire and this is your current muse.
Your most current scar tissue to be.
The fiery cabin will bend around you like bark, and this is what you need.
This is the blanket you've been waiting for.