We took a broken thought and turned it to gold. Why. The boy, with his head held under a towel telling. His head held by another. If one fixes another breaks. We shouldn’t be writing this, we’re looking now. Keep going. No. The towel sickens and breaths. We hold you down. Don’t you see.
The boy was exhausted. Again, he picked his head to look. It hurt him to be both asleep and not. Is he alone? Soon, he knew, the door would open. Time to shower. Time to shower. Time to shadow. Time to disappear. Can we push the shadow with the whisper? Does it count to pour this down? Or, are we to always let the steam rise and the door lock and the scream shutter.