Windswept locks on end, tugging at my mind. Stretching from my soul, a welded tube strains. A bird in a cage, wearing away bars. Reams of coiled rope squirm flapping at my sides. Thin sticks move in pairs and poke at the dark. The dark that ne'er leaves, my side nor inside. It clings with purpose. Is it worse when the pressure comes from inside? Is it worse when you can't escape and implode? Oh!