What if Melem was right? And I am acting as life, as the great disdain personified, the putrid forever state. What if Mel just wanna submerge and forget in deep sea waters of what works for her, it works for her, does it, of course it does, the falling dresses and ruptured joints, as falling feels like flying and maybe the clock wasn’t really right twice a day, maybe it is broken, unmovable, unsolvable, doomed from the beginning but then again it never had a beginning, and my apartheid of fire-spitting thoughts is this new futile so dense in annexes and the roulette keeps on spinning but all those prizes are the same, roll-a-roll again. Let go of everything for everything is wrong. Why bother, I heard you say.
Nothing
