The book will unfold with every letter you take with each step. Stars bloom and unravel before you. Eyes roam the ground in search of where you will go. Hands trace the gravel to where you have already been. The pages always a step behind. Running in the world’s oceans to escape what should have been. Never learning to swim. To explore what already is. To hope is to die. To share is to be alone. A child lost in the ashtray at the foot of God’s throne. Apathy devouring rage. Storms raging in your heart pulling passerbyers into their destructive spirals. When will it end?
Not a nightingale. Do not pretend to need a heart that can not mend. Go away.