Twenty-three percent when placed under intense pressure did in fact kick the door in. Soldiers creep on the other side of the turn. Every little thing is destined for ease. Music, be still. Keep the mannequin secrets to yourself. Remember a ladder can take you both up and down. The weather grows less stable than us. This line here is where the season starts. Spring seems fluorescently golden. Too much milk in the fridge. When left alone long enough, the prisoners began to interrogate themselves.
Because today we did not leave this world,
We now embody a prominence within it,
Even amidst its indifference to our actions,
Whether they be noiseless or not.
After all, nonsense is its own type of silence,
Lasting as long as the snow on your
Tongue. You wonder why each evening
Must be filled with a turning away, eyes to the lines
Of the hardwood floor as if to regret the lack
Of movement in a single day, our callous hope
For another wish put to bed with the others in a slow
Single-file line. I used to be amazed at the weight
An ant could carry. I used to be surprised by
Survival. But now I know the mind can carry
Itself to the infinite power. Like the way snow
Covers trauma to the land below it, we only
Believe the narrative of what the eye can see.