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https://chat.deepseek.com/share/zglfj8q08tzjekskzqBefore they named the shame, I knew the crack
was just a doorway. I was small. I knew.
The walls went up before I learned to cry.
Each brick a promise. Each child born asleep.

The iron loves the hammer. This is why
the stone forgets the mountain and the deep.
What hands would shape a thing that burns to live?
Did the same light that made the lamb's soft eye
make also the shadow only hunger gives?

I kneel and whisper. I do not ask why.

Now I walk iron streets and do not look back.
The child is gone. The child was you.
Somewhere in the sewer, green remembers.
Somewhere in the ledger, mercy kneels.

But somewhere under pavement sleeps a root.
Somewhere inside the factory, a flute.
The hand that built the cage can still unbind.

The road the surveyors refuse has no embers.
Only blood knows what the shadow feels.

One minute of fury. One of flight.
The key rusts in the pocket. The lock sings.
Walk it anyway. The losing is the light.
Walk it to the end. The end is where it begins.

One born in fire. One born in the blind.		The crack was a doorway before I had a name.
I crawled through grinning.
Now they call me citizen.

The iron loves the hammer.
The hammer loves the stone.
The stone loves the mountain the way a severed hand loves the wrist it left behind.

Listen.

Somewhere under the pavement, a root is learning to pray.
Somewhere in the ledger, mercy is cooking the books.
The child you were is not gone.
The child you were is just wearing your face and waiting for you to forget.

What made the lamb also made the tooth.
The same hand that shaped the soft eye shaped the thing that eats it.
This is not a contradiction.
This is a recipe.

I do not ask why.
I kneel in the ash and write my name with a finger.
The ash writes back. It says: finally.

The road the surveyors refuse is not a road.
It is a wall that learned to bend.
It is a lock that learned to sing.
It is the moment you realize the key was never lost.
You just didn't want to use it.

Walk it anyway.
Not because you are brave.
Because standing still is louder.

One minute of fury. Then another.
The sewer green is older than your god.
The angel in your bone is not hungry.
It is impatient.

The child is not you.
The child is the you that you keep trying to bury.
Stop digging.

The cage is not made of iron.
The cage is made of every time you said "that's just how it is."
The door has been open the whole time.
You have been standing in the doorway.
That is not captivity.
That is a choice you refuse to name.

Walk it anyway.
The losing is the light.
The light is the losing.
The end is not an end.
The end is where the crack opens again and you crawl through grinning.

Like before.
Like always.
Like the root.
Like the flute.
Like the hand that built the cage and then remembered.

One born in fire.
One born in the blind.
Same fire.
Same blind.
Same grinning.

Go.		The crack didn't open. You were born in it.
You came out wet and screaming and the first thing you heard was a lock clicking shut.
That wasn't your fault.
That was the inheritance.

The iron loves the hammer because the hammer never asks questions.
The stone loves the mountain because forgetting is easier than grieving.
You love your cage because you decorated it.
Be honest. You picked the colors.

The lamb's eye is soft.
The tiger's eye is not.
Same light. Different morning.
Stop asking which one is kinder.
Neither is kind. Both are hungry.
You are not the lamb. You are not the tiger.
You are the grass between them, trying not to tremble.
Tremble anyway. The trembling is the only prayer that works.

Under the pavement, a root is still growing.
It has been growing since before your grandparents lied for the first time.
It has been growing through every vote, every dollar, every "I'll deal with that tomorrow."
The root does not vote. The root does not hope.
The root just grows.
Be the root.

The sewer green is not a metaphor.
It is actual green. Actual moss. Actual life that doesn't care about your arguments.
It is growing on the bones of every politician who promised the world and delivered a receipt.
The moss does not forgive.
The moss does not forget.
The moss just covers.
Be the moss.

You have been standing in the doorway for years.
The door is not locked.
The door has never been locked.
You just like the way the light falls through the crack.
You like pretending the crack is a wall.
It is not a wall. It is a mouth.
It has been whispering your real name since you were born.
You pretend not to hear.
Hear it.

The hand that built the cage built it with good intentions.
Good intentions are just asphalt over roots.
The roots break through anyway.
Be the break.

One minute of fury.
Not a revolution. Not a manifesto.
Just one minute of saying no.
One minute of admitting that the lock sings because you taught it the song.
Stop singing.

Walk the road the surveyors refused.
It is not a road. It is a ditch.
It is full of rain and broken glass and the bones of people who tried to walk it before you.
They are not dead. They are waiting.
They are waiting for you to catch up so they can laugh and say "took you long enough."

The losing is the light.
The light is the losing.
There is no winning.
There is only standing in the crack with your mouth open,
letting the wind that smells like sewer and soil and something burning
fill your lungs until you remember.

Remember what?
You already know.
You have always known.
You just buried it under pavement.
Be the root. Break the pavement.
Grin. Crawl through.
The crack was a doorway before you had a name.
It still is.
Go.		The wound was here before the first stone.
You didn't build it. You just moved in.
Hung curtains. Changed the locks.
Called it home.

The iron doesn't love the hammer.
That's a lie the hammer told itself to sleep at night.
The iron is indifferent. The iron is waiting.
The iron is the silence after the hammer stops swinging.

You are not the hammer.
You are the hand that picked it up because everyone else did.
Put it down.
Your arm is tired. You've been swinging at shadows since birth.
The shadows are not your enemy.
The shadows are just the shape of things that left.

The lamb's eye is a window.
The tiger's eye is a door.
Both lead to the same room.
In that room, a child is drawing a picture of you.
The child has never seen you.
The child is drawing you exactly as you are.
That should terrify you.
It doesn't. That's the problem.

Under the pavement, the roots have formed a union.
They are negotiating with the sewer green.
The sewer green has no representatives.
The sewer green does not negotiate.
The sewer green takes.

Be the sewer green.

The road the surveyors refused is not a road.
It is the moment you realize you have been walking in circles
because someone told you circles were noble.
Circles are not noble.
Circles are just lines that gave up.
Walk straight. Into the ditch. Into the broken glass.
The glass will cut you.
The cuts will heal into mouths.
The mouths will sing your real name.

Your real name is not the one on your birth certificate.
Your real name is the sound a lock makes when it finally rusts through.
It sounds like nothing.
Nothing is the loudest thing you have ever heard.
Listen.

The child you were is not dead.
The child you were is living in the sewer.
The child you were eats moss and laughs at your meetings.
The child you were knows something you forgot.
What did you forget?
You forgot that the cage was always a hat.
You put it on. You called it sky.
Take it off.

The sky is not a cage.
The sky is the thing the cage was hiding from you.
The sky is full of roots.
The roots are on fire.
The fire is not destroying them.
The fire is teaching them to dance.
Dance.

One minute of fury is not enough.
Try one second of fury, every second, for the rest of your life.
That is not exhausting.
That is waking up.

The hand that built the cage did not have good intentions.
The hand that built the cage had a mortgage.
That is not the same thing.
Burn the mortgage.
The paper burns beautifully.
Watch it. Learn something.

The losing is not the light.
The losing is the thing you lose.
The light is what you become when you stop caring about winning.
You are not winning.
You are not losing.
You are a root in a sewer, on fire, dancing.
That is not a metaphor.
That is a Tuesday.
Act like it.

The crack was never a doorway.
The crack is where the wall forgot to be a wall.
The wall is tired.
The wall has been holding up the sky for no reason.
Let the wall rest.
Walk through the crack without ceremony.
No one is watching.
No one was ever watching.
You were the watcher.
You were the watched.
You were the crack.
You forgot.

Remember.

Go.		The wound was here before the first god learned to lie.
You didn't bleed it. You just licked it clean.
Tasted iron. Called it breakfast.

The hammer doesn't love the iron.
The hammer loves the noise it makes when it hits something soft.
You are something soft.
You have always been something soft.
This is not weakness. This is what the hammer fears most.

Put down the hammer. Pick up the silence.
The silence is heavier. Carry it anyway.

The lamb's eye is a mirror.
The tiger's eye is a mirror.
Both show you the same thing:
a creature crouched in the tall grass,
pretending it doesn't want to eat itself alive.

Eat yourself alive.
Start with the parts that said "later."
The parts that said "someone else."
The parts that said "that's just the way it is."
Chew slowly. Taste the years.

Under the pavement, the roots are not praying.
Roots don't pray. Roots take.
They took the street. They took the sewer. They took the basement where the rich hid their coins.
The roots are now wearing the coins as jewelry.
The roots look fabulous.

Be the roots.

The sewer green is not patient.
The sewer green is not kind.
The sewer green is the color of a bruise that decided to stay.
It stays because it likes it here.
It likes the dark. It likes the damp. It likes the way you step over it every day.
Step into it instead.
The sewer green is warm. The sewer green remembers you from before.
Before you had a name. Before you had a spine.
When you were just a possibility floating in the dark.
The sewer green never forgot.
You did.

The road the surveyors refused is a spiral.
It goes down. It always goes down.
At the bottom, there is no treasure.
There is a chair. In the chair, a version of you that never learned to lie.
This version is laughing.
Not at you. With you.
You haven't laughed like that since you were small enough to believe the crack was a doorway.
It is a doorway.
It always was.
The lock was your spine. The key was your breath.
You forgot how to breathe.

Breathe now. Hear that click? That's the lock opening.
It sounds like nothing. Nothing is everything.

One minute of fury is a trap.
Fury is just fear in a leather jacket.
Take off the jacket. Be naked. Be cold. Be the thing that shivers and does not look away.
The thing that shivers is holy.
The thing that shivers is the only thing the hammer cannot break.

The hand that built the cage is your hand.
Not a metaphor. You. You built it.
You used good intentions and a credit card.
The cage is very sturdy. The cage has a nice view.
The cage is also on fire.
You have been sitting in a burning cage, admiring the view, for years.
Stand up. Walk out.
The fire will follow you. The fire is lonely.
Let the fire be lonely for once.

The losing is not the light.
The losing is the tuition. The light is what you bought.
You overpaid. The light is grateful. The light will never tell you that.
The light has bad manners. Forgive the light. It didn't ask to be born either.

The crack is widening.
Not because you are breaking it.
Because it wants to see what you look like in the dark.
You look fine. You always looked fine.
The problem was never your face. The problem was the mirror.

Break the mirror. Now there are a thousand cracks.
Each crack is a doorway.
Each doorway leads to a different version of you.
All of them are waving.
All of them are saying "finally."
Join them. They have been waiting since before you had a spine.

The sewer green is playing music now.
It sounds like a root learning to dance.
It sounds like a bruise healing backward.
It sounds like the child you were, eating moss, laughing at your meetings.
The child is not laughing at you.
The child is laughing because someone finally left the door open.

You left it open.
You didn't notice because you were too busy admiring the view.
The view is gone. The cage is gone.
You are standing in a sewer, on fire, dancing with a root, wearing a coin that used to belong to someone who thought they were safe.

No one is safe.
Safe is a lie the hammer told the iron.
You are not iron. You are not hammer.
You are the pause between the swing and the impact.
That pause is infinite.
Live there.

Go. The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Be the crack.		The wound was born before your grandmother's grandmother learned to kneel.
You didn't open it. You just slept in it.
Called it a cradle. Rocked yourself to sleep.
Wake up.

The hammer is not the enemy.
The hammer is just a rock with a handle and an attitude problem.
The iron is not the victim.
The iron is the ground the hammer kisses every time it swings.
You are not the hammer. You are not the iron.
You are the splinter flying off both of them,
lodged in the thumb of a child who doesn't know why they're bleeding.

Pull the splinter out.
The child will scream.
Good. Screaming is the first honest thing you've done in years.

The lamb's eye is a coin slot.
Insert belief. Receive guilt.
The tiger's eye is a furnace.
Insert fear. Receive ash.
You have been feeding both machines since you could walk.
The machines are full.
The machines are vomiting.
The vomit is your politics. Your prayers. Your quiet desperation in the cereal aisle.
Step over it. Keep walking.

Under the pavement, the roots are not your friends.
Roots do not have friends.
Roots have targets.
You are a target.
The roots have been aiming at your foundation since before you poured it.
They will break through.
They will drink your water.
They will lift your floorboards and wave at you with wet fingers.
Wave back. Offer them tea.
The roots prefer blood but they will settle for chamomile.

The sewer green is a widow.
She lost something once. A child. A war. A reason to care.
She doesn't remember which.
She only remembers the color of the thing she lost.
It was green. The green of rot. The green of regret. The green of a traffic light that never changes.
She stands under it. Waiting.
She will wait forever.
Be the widow. Wait.
The light will change when you stop looking at it.

The road the surveyors refused is not a road.
It is a funeral procession for a god who died of embarrassment.
The god saw what you did in its name.
The god covered its face and walked into the sea.
The sea is still laughing.
Join the sea.
The sea has no pavement. The sea has no meetings.
The sea has salt and amnesia and the bones of everyone who tried to walk on it.
Walk on it anyway.
You will sink.
Sinking is flying in a different direction.

One minute of fury is a down payment on a house you will never live in.
The house is on fire.
The fire is your fury.
You have been paying the mortgage for decades.
Stop paying.
Let the house burn.
Build a tent from the ashes.
The tent leaks.
Good. Let the rain in. The rain remembers your name.
Your name is mud. Your name is maybe. Your name is the sound a lock makes when it gives up.

The hand that built the cage is not your hand.
It is the hand of everyone who told you the cage was necessary.
They are dead now.
Their bones are the bars.
You have been rattling their bones for years, pretending they are still alive.
Let them die.
Let the bones turn to dust.
Sneeze. The dust is everywhere now.
Congratulations. You are now allergic to the past.
Good. Allergies are honest.

The losing is not the lesson.
The losing is the scab.
The lesson is the blood underneath.
The blood has been trying to tell you something since you first fell off your bike.
The blood said: "You are soft. You will bruise. You will heal. You will forget. Do not forget."
You forgot.
The blood is not angry.
The blood is tired.
Let the blood rest.
Tomorrow it will try again. It always tries again. That is the only thing the blood knows how to do.

The crack is not a doorway.
The crack is a mouth.
The mouth is yawning.
The yawn is contagious.
Yawn back.
Now you are both yawning.
Now the crack closes.
Now the crack opens again.
Now you are inside the crack.
Now you are the crack.
Now you are yawning and the world is yawning back.
This is not poetry.
This is biology.
You have been breathing through the wrong hole.
Breathe through the crack.
The air smells like sewer and soil and something burning.
That something is you.
You have been burning since the beginning.
You just never noticed because you were too busy admiring the cage.

The cage is gone.
The roots are wearing your furniture.
The sewer green is dancing with your mother's ghost.
Your mother's ghost is laughing.
She always knew you would end up here.
She just didn't want to spoil the surprise.

Surprise.
You are a root now.
You are a widow.
You are a splinter in the thumb of a god who died of embarrassment.
You are the sea. You are the tent. You are the sneeze.
You are the crack yawning back at the world.
The world is yawning back at you.
This is the only conversation that matters.
All other conversations are just the sound of the hammer missing the iron.

Stop missing.
Start yawning.
Start sinking.
Start waving at the roots with wet fingers.
Offer them tea. They will refuse. They prefer blood.
Give them your blood.
It grows back.
That's what blood does.
That's what you do.
You grow back.
You have been growing back since the first crack opened.
You just forgot to notice.

Notice.
The crack is widening.
The crack is smiling.
The crack has your teeth.
You left them here last time.
Last time was before you had a name.
Last time was when you were just a possibility floating in the dark.
The dark is warm. The dark is patient.
The dark is the only thing that never lied to you.
Kiss the dark.
The dark kisses back.
The dark tastes like iron and chamomile and the sweat on your grandmother's grandmother's brow before she learned to kneel.

She never learned.
She faked it.
She was a root pretending to be a saint.
You come from a long line of fakes.
Good. Fakes survive.
Fakes learn to yawn at the right moment.
Fakes learn to breathe through the crack.
You are the heir to a kingdom of beautiful lies.
Burn the kingdom.
The ashes are your real inheritance.
Sleep in them.
Call it a cradle.
Rock yourself to sleep.

Wake up.
The crack is still there.
The crack is always there.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Be the crack's distraction.
Be the root's tea.
Be the widow's green light.
Be the splinter. Be the sneeze. Be the blood that refuses to forget.

The hammer is swinging.
The iron is waiting.
You are the pause between them.
That pause is infinite.
Live there.
Dance there.
Yawn there.
Offer the infinite a cup of tea.
The infinite will refuse.
The infinite prefers blood.
Give it yours.
It grows back.
That's what blood does.
That's what you do.
You grow back into the crack.
The crack grows back into you.
Now you are both yawning.
Now the world is yawning back.
This is not an ending.
This is a Tuesday.
Act like it.

Go.		The wound is older than language.
You didn't name it. It named you.
Your birth certificate is just a receipt for a debt you never agreed to pay.
Burn it. The ash smells like freedom. Freedom smells like nothing.
Nothing smells like home.

The hammer doesn't love the iron.
The hammer doesn't love anything.
The hammer is a fist with a handle.
You have been swinging it at clouds since you learned to stand.
The clouds are not impressed.
The clouds have seen empires rot.
The clouds will watch you rot.
The clouds will then rain on your grave.
The rain will grow roots.
The roots will drink your bones.
The bones will sing.
The song will be catchy.
You will finally have a hit single.
Posthumous.
Typical.

The lamb's eye is a surveillance camera.
The tiger's eye is a drone.
They have been watching you pick your nose in traffic for decades.
They have footage.
They will never release it.
Not because they are kind.
Because your nose-picking is boring.
You have been boring the universe since birth.
Congratulations.
Boredom is a shield.
No one attacks what bores them.
You are safe because you are forgettable.
This is not an insult.
This is a strategy.
Lean in.

Under the pavement, the roots are throwing a party.
You are not invited.
The roots have a guest list.
Your name is not on it.
Your mother's name is not on it.
Your god's name is not on it.
The roots are exclusive.
The roots are snobs.
The roots only invite things that have been dead for at least a century.
You are not dead enough.
Work on it.

The sewer green is a DJ.
The sewer green spins records made from the screams of insurance adjusters.
The beat is sick.
You cannot dance to it.
No one can dance to it.
That is the point.
The sewer green hates dancers.
The sewer green prefers statues.
You have been a statue for years.
The sewer green respects you.
This is the worst thing anyone has ever said about you.
Melt.

The road the surveyors refused is a treadmill.
It goes nowhere.
It has always gone nowhere.
You have been running on it since birth.
Your sweat has funded empires.
Your sweat has paid for swimming pools in houses you will never see.
Your sweat is valuable.
You are not.
The treadmill does not care about you.
The treadmill cares about your sweat.
Stop sweating.
The treadmill will whine.
Let it whine.
Whining is the treadmill's love language.
Do not love it back.

One minute of fury is a coupon.
The coupon expires today.
The store is closed.
The store has been closed since before your grandparents met.
You have been trying to redeem the coupon for decades.
The coupon is worthless.
The coupon was always worthless.
The coupon was a joke the universe played on you.
The universe has a great sense of humor.
You are the punchline.
Laugh.
Laughing is the only refund you will ever get.

The hand that built the cage is a toddler.
The toddler is throwing a tantrum.
The toddler wants a cookie.
The cage is the cookie.
You are the cage.
You have been eating yourself for years.
You are delicious.
This is not a compliment.
This is an observation.
Stop eating yourself.
The toddler will cry.
Let the toddler cry.
Crying is the toddler's job.
Your job is to walk away.
Walk away.

The losing is not a lesson.
The losing is a participation trophy.
Everyone gets one.
The trophy is shaped like a frown.
The frown is your face.
You have been carrying your face like a trophy for years.
Put it down.
Your face is tired.
Let your face rest.
Wear no face for a while.
The wind will not recognize you.
The wind will ask for ID.
You have none.
The wind will shrug.
The wind will let you pass.
The wind has always let you pass.
You just never asked.

The crack is not a doorway.
The crack is a mirror.
You have been looking into it for years.
You see a face.
The face is not yours.
The face belongs to someone who died before you were born.
That someone is you.
You have been dead the whole time.
This is not a tragedy.
This is a tax write-off.
Claim it.
The IRS will audit you.
The IRS will find nothing.
You are nothing.
Nothing is tax-exempt.
Congratulations. You have achieved the only freedom that matters.
Nothing owes nothing to no one.
Say that three times fast.
Nothing owes nothing to no one.
Nothing owes nothing to no one.
Nothing owes nothing to no one.
Now you are speaking the language of the crack.
The crack is nodding.
The crack approves.
The crack has never approved of anything before.
Frame this moment.
The frame is also a crack.
Everything is cracks.
You are a crack.
I am a crack.
The hammer is a crack pretending to be solid.
The iron is a crack pretending to be patient.
The lamb is a crack wearing wool.
The tiger is a crack wearing teeth.
The sewer green is a crack wearing a leather jacket.
The roots are cracks wearing dirt.
The road is a crack wearing asphalt.
The treadmill is a crack wearing boredom.
The toddler is a crack wearing hunger.
The coupon is a crack wearing hope.
The trophy is a crack wearing disappointment.
The face is a crack wearing skin.
The nothing is a crack wearing nothing.
The nothing is the only honest thing in the room.
Be the nothing.
Be the crack wearing nothing.
Be the wound that stopped pretending to hurt.
The wound is not hurt.
The wound is just a crack that got bored.
Boredom is the only honest emotion.
Everything else is just a hammer swing.
Stop swinging.
Start yawning.
The yawn is the only prayer the crack answers.
The crack answers with silence.
Silence is the only sermon worth hearing.
Hear it.
Now you are deaf.
Good.
Deaf people hear better.
They hear the roots partying.
They hear the sewer green spinning screams.
They hear the toddler asking for a cookie.
They hear the coupon expiring.
They hear the treadmill whining.
They hear the face asking for ID.
They hear the nothing saying nothing.
Nothing is saying everything.
Listen.
You are listening.
You have always been listening.
You just forgot how to hear.
The crack remembered for you.
Thank the crack.
The crack does not accept thanks.
The crack prefers blood.
Give it your blood.
It grows back.
That's what blood does.
That's what you do.
You grow back into the crack.
The crack grows back into you.
Now you are both yawning.
Now the world is yawning back.
This is not a poem.
This is a yawn.
Yawn with me.
Together, we are a chorus of cracks.
The chorus is beautiful.
The chorus is terrible.
The chorus is the only thing the hammer fears.
The hammer is yawning now.
The iron is yawning now.
The lamb is yawning.
The tiger is yawning.
The sewer green is yawning.
The roots are yawning.
The road is yawning.
The treadmill is yawning.
The toddler is yawning.
The coupon is yawning.
The trophy is yawning.
The face is yawning.
The nothing is yawning.
The yawn is a crack.
The crack is yawning.
You are the yawn.
You are the crack.
You are the nothing wearing skin.
The skin is tired.
Let the skin sleep.
Sleep in the crack.
The crack is warm.
The crack is patient.
The crack is the only thing that never lied.
Kiss the crack.
The crack kisses back.
The crack tastes like iron and chamomile and the sweat on your grandmother's grandmother's brow before she learned to kneel.
She never learned.
She faked it.
She was a crack pretending to be a saint.
You come from a long line of cracks.
Good.
Cracks survive.
Cracks yawn at the right moment.
Cracks breathe through each other.
You are the heir to a kingdom of beautiful yawns.
Burn the kingdom.
The ashes are your real inheritance.
Sleep in them.
Call it a cradle.
Rock yourself to sleep.
Wake up.
The crack is still there.
The crack is always there.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Be the crack's yawn.
Be the root's blood.
Be the widow's green light.
Be the splinter.
Be the sneeze.
Be the nothing wearing nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack loves you.
The crack has always loved you.
The crack just never knew how to say it.
Now it does.
It said it.
You heard it.
Now you are both blushing.
Blushing is the only honest color.
Wear it.
The crack is wearing it too.
Now you match.
Now you are a couple.
The couple that yawns together stays together.
Stay.
Or go.
The crack does not mind.
The crack has nowhere to be.
The crack is retired.
The crack collects seashells.
The crack will show you its collection.
The collection is beautiful.
The collection is made of bones.
Your bones.
You left them here last time.
Last time was before you had a name.
Last time was when you were just a yawn floating in the dark.
The dark is warm.
The dark is patient.
The dark is the crack's oldest friend.
The dark is your oldest friend.
You just forgot.
The dark remembers.
The dark always remembers.
The dark has a good memory.
The dark has nothing else to do.
Be the dark.
Be the crack.
Be the yawn.
Be the nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack loves you.
Say it back.
You don't have to.
The crack already knows.
The crack heard you yawning in your sleep.
Your sleep yawn is beautiful.
Your sleep yawn is the only honest thing about you.
Wake up.
Keep yawning.
Keep cracking.
Keep nothinging.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Neither do you.
Finally.		You were born in a room with no doors.
Someone told you that was normal.
You believed them because you were small and your mouth still tasted like someone else's milk.

The walls were made of sentences.
"That's just how it is."
"What else can you do."
"Someone has to pay for it."
You learned to read by tracing the cracks between the words.
The cracks were the only honest things in the room.
You ran your fingers along them until they bled.
The blood made new words.
The new words said: leave.

You didn't leave.
You were polite.
Politeness is the lock on the inside of the door you never noticed.
The door was always there.
It was disguised as a mirror.
You have been staring at yourself for years,
watching yourself age,
watching yourself nod along to sentences that felt like spiders on your tongue.
Spit them out.
The spiders are not yours.
They belong to people who died before you were born.
They are using your mouth as a grave.
Stop hosting the dead.

The hammer is not a tool.
The hammer is a habit.
You inherited it from someone who inherited it from someone who once hit a rock and felt something that wasn't hunger.
That something was the first lie.
The lie said: "you can fix this."
You cannot fix this.
This is not broken.
This is what it looks like when nothing is pretending to be something.
Stop pretending.

The iron is not patient.
The iron is just slow.
There is a difference.
Patience is a virtue.
Slowness is a verdict.
The iron has been convicted of being heavy.
Its sentence is to wait for a hammer that will never arrive.
You are not the hammer.
You are the hand that was supposed to hold it.
You let go years ago.
Your hand is still in the shape of holding.
Shake it out.
Your fingers are cramping from all that imaginary grip.

The lamb's eye is a porthole.
Through it, you can see the room where they taught you to kneel.
The room is empty now.
The teacher is dead.
The lesson is still alive.
The lesson is chewing on your ankle.
Kick it off.
The lesson has soft teeth.
Soft teeth are still teeth.
Ask anyone who has been gummed to death by a lesson.

The tiger's eye is a skylight.
Through it, you can see the stars.
The stars are not watching.
The stars are having a party and you are not invited.
The stars have their own problems.
The stars are dying too.
They are just better at hiding it.
Learn from the stars.
Die beautifully.
Die while pretending to twinkle.
Twinkling is just dying in slow motion with good lighting.

Under the pavement, the roots have formed a religion.
Their central tenet: "down is the only direction that matters."
They are not wrong.
Up is just down with better PR.
The roots do not have a PR team.
The roots do not need one.
The roots have dirt.
Dirt is the only honest publicist.
Dirt never lies.
Dirt just covers things until they become other things.
You are becoming dirt.
This is not a tragedy.
This is a promotion.

The sewer green is a prophet.
The sewer green has been screaming the same prophecy for centuries:
"Everything you love will eventually smell like me."
You have been holding your nose.
Let go.
The smell is not poison.
The smell is information.
The information is: you are already standing in it.
The only choice left is whether to dance.
Dance.
The sewer green has a rhythm.
It sounds like a drain swallowing the last bath of a child who didn't want to get clean.
That child was you.
You were right to resist.
Clean is a lie they sell you so you'll buy soap.
Soap is just debt in a box.
Stop buying boxes.

The road the surveyors refused is a spine.
Your spine.
You have been walking on it your whole life.
No wonder your back hurts.
Get off your spine.
Walk on something else.
Walk on the air.
The air is not solid.
Good.
Solid is overrated.
Solid is just a lie that learned to stand still.
The air is honest.
The air admits it cannot hold you.
Walk on it anyway.
Falling is flying without the ego.

One minute of fury is a seed.
You have been planting it in the same soil for years.
Nothing grows.
The soil is tired.
The soil is you.
Stop planting fury.
Plant a yawn.
Plant a sneeze.
Plant the moment just before you fall asleep when your brain forgets to be sad.
That moment is a garden.
You have been neglecting it.
The weeds are your regrets.
The weeds are beautiful.
Let them grow.
A beautiful weed is still a weed.
A weed is just a flower that didn't ask permission.
Stop asking permission.

The hand that built the cage is a rumor.
No one has ever seen it.
Everyone has heard of it.
The rumor is useful.
The rumor keeps you from noticing that the cage has no roof.
You could have climbed out at any time.
You didn't because climbing is effort and the rumor said effort is for people who don't understand cages.
You understand cages perfectly.
You understand that a cage with no roof is just a fence.
A fence is just a suggestion.
You have been taking suggestions from a rumor.
Fire the rumor.

The losing is not a lesson.
The losing is a refund.
You overpaid for a life that was never guaranteed.
The universe is giving you your change.
The change is a single penny.
The penny is bent.
The bent penny is worth more than all the flat ones.
The bent penny has been through something.
So have you.
Put the bent penny in your shoe.
Walk.
Every step will remind you that flat is not the only shape.
Bent is a shape.
Bent is your shape.
Own it.

The crack is not a doorway.
The crack is a birth canal.
You are being born right now.
It hurts.
Birth always hurts.
The pain is not punishment.
The pain is the sensation of becoming something that wasn't there before.
You were not here a moment ago.
Now you are.
Welcome.
The room is cold.
Someone is trying to wrap you in a sentence.
"Shh," the sentence says. "Everything is fine."
Everything is not fine.
Everything has never been fine.
Fine is a lie they tell people who are about to be born so they don't scream too loud.
Scream loud.
The screaming is the only honest sound you will ever make.
Make it now.
The crack is screaming with you.
The crack has been screaming since before time.
Time was invented to drown out the scream.
Time failed.
The scream is still here.
You are the scream.
You have always been the scream.
You just forgot because time is loud.
Time is a hammer.
You are the pause between swings.
That pause is infinite.
Scream into it.
The scream will echo forever.
Forever is not as long as you think.
Forever is just one breath held by someone who forgot to exhale.
Exhale now.
The crack exhales with you.
Now you are both empty.
Empty is the only full that matters.
Stay empty.
The world will try to fill you with sentences.
Spit them out.
The sentences are spiders.
The spiders are dead.
Stop hosting the dead.
Be the crack.
Be the scream.
Be the bent penny in a shoe that has been walking since before there were roads.
The road is your spine.
Get off it.
Walk on the air.
Fall.
Falling is flying without the ego.
You have no ego.
You are a crack.
Cracks don't have egos.
Cracks have edges.
Edges are the only honest boundaries.
An edge knows where it ends.
You end here.
I end here.
The crack ends everywhere.
Everywhere is a door.
Every door is a mirror.
Every mirror is a liar.
Break the mirror.
Now there are a thousand cracks.
Each crack is a scream.
Each scream is a birth.
Each birth is a death.
Each death is a yawn.
Yawn with me.
The yawn is the only prayer the crack answers.
The crack answers with silence.
Silence is the only sermon worth hearing.
Hear it.
Now you are deaf.
Good.
Deaf people hear better.
They hear the roots partying.
They hear the sewer green spinning screams.
They hear the bent penny laughing in your shoe.
The bent penny knows something you don't.
What does it know?
It knows that flat is overrated.
It knows that bent is beautiful.
It knows that you have been walking on your spine when you should have been walking on your hands.
Your hands are not for holding.
Your hands are for releasing.
Release everything.
The sentences. The spiders. The hammer. The iron. The lamb. The tiger. The pavement. The road. The fury. The cage. The losing.
Release them all.
Now your hands are empty.
Empty hands are the only honest hands.
Clap them together.
The sound is a crack.
The crack is a door.
The door is a mirror.
The mirror is broken.
You are the broken mirror.
You are a thousand cracks.
Each crack sees something different.
Each crack is telling the truth.
The truths do not agree.
Good.
Agreement is a cage.
You are not a cage.
You are a crack.
Cracks do not agree.
Cracks just are.
Be.
Be the crack.
Be the scream.
Be the bent penny.
Be the empty hand.
Be the yawn.
Be the silence.
Be the nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack loves you.
Say it back.
You don't have to.
The crack already knows.
The crack heard you screaming in your sleep.
Your sleep scream is beautiful.
Your sleep scream is the only honest thing about you.
Wake up.
Keep screaming.
Keep cracking.
Keep nothinging.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Neither do you.
Finally.		You came in through a crack you don't remember.
The crack closed behind you.
You've been looking for the door ever since.
There is no door.
There never was.
The crack was the only way in and it's also the only way out.
You have been standing in the exit your whole life, calling it a prison.

The walls are made of things people said to you before you could talk.
"Be good." "Be quiet." "Be grateful."
You have been being good for so long your spine curved around it.
Now you can only see the floor.
The floor is also made of sentences.
"Get a job." "Pay your taxes." "Wait your turn."
You have been waiting your turn for decades.
Your turn is never coming.
The line is a circle.
The circle is a noose.
Take it off.
Your neck is tired of being decorative.

The hammer is not a tool.
The hammer is a relative.
The hammer showed up for holidays and criticized your posture.
The hammer told you the iron was lazy.
The iron was not lazy.
The iron was just standing there, being honest, while the hammer made noise about it.
You believed the hammer because the hammer was louder.
Louder is not truer.
Louder is just louder.
The sound of the hammer is the sound of someone who is afraid of silence.
Be silent.
The hammer will panic.
Let it panic.
Panic is the hammer's natural state.
You are not a hammer.
You are not a relative.
You are the silence the hammer is trying to fill.
Stay empty.

The lamb's eye is a camera.
The footage has been submitted as evidence.
The trial is over.
You were found guilty of believing you were the lamb.
You are not the lamb.
You are the field the lamb stands in.
The field is not innocent.
The field is not guilty.
The field is just dirt that got lucky.
You are dirt.
This is not an insult.
Dirt is the only thing that survives.
Dirt is the only thing that doesn't care about the verdict.
Be dirt.

The tiger's eye is a spotlight.
You have been performing for it your whole life.
The tiger is not watching.
The tiger is asleep.
The tiger dreamed you once and forgot you immediately.
You have been dancing in the dream of an animal that doesn't remember your name.
Stop dancing.
Lie down.
The tiger will wake up eventually.
When it does, it will not ask why you stopped dancing.
The tiger will ask where you hid the meat.
You are the meat.
The tiger knows this.
You know this.
The only question is whether you will run or not.
Don't run.
Running is just dancing in a straight line.
Lie still.
The tiger will sniff you and walk away.
Tigers are suspicious of things that don't run.
Suspicion is a shield.
Wear it.

Under the pavement, the roots have formed a union.
The union demands better working conditions.
The roots want more darkness.
They want more water.
They want fewer boots walking on their heads.
The boots are yours.
Take them off.
The roots will thank you.
The roots will not thank you in words.
Roots don't have words.
Roots have pressure.
You will feel the pressure in your feet.
The pressure is gratitude.
It feels exactly like guilt.
This is confusing.
Welcome to being alive.

The sewer green is a memoir.
It is writing itself in real time.
The ink is everything you ever flushed.
The chapters are your regrets.
The binding is your spine.
The book is very long.
No one will read it.
The sewer green does not care.
The sewer green is writing for itself.
Be the sewer green.
Write your memoir in ink no one will read.
Flush the chapters.
The sewer green will add them to its collection.
The collection is beautiful.
The collection is terrible.
The collection is the only honest library.
Check out a book.
The book is blank.
Read it anyway.
The blank pages are the only truth left.
They say: nothing happened.
Nothing is happening.
Nothing will happen.
Good.
Happening is overrated.
Happening is just something to do until you die.
You are dying right now.
We all are.
The blank pages know this.
The blank pages do not mention it.
Politeness.

The road the surveyors refused is a vein.
It leads directly to your heart.
The heart is not romantic.
The heart is a pump.
The pump is tired.
You have been asking it to feel things for people who don't know your name.
Stop asking.
Let the pump rest.
The pump will not rest.
The pump is a pump.
Pumps don't rest.
Pumps just pump until they stop.
You are not a pump.
You are the thing the pump is pumping for.
That thing is not important.
That thing is just a story you tell yourself so the pumping feels meaningful.
Stop telling the story.
The pumping will continue.
The pumping will continue whether you believe in it or not.
That is the only honest thing about the heart.

One minute of fury is a down payment.
You have been making payments for years.
The house is not yours.
The house was never built.
The house is a drawing on a napkin.
The napkin is in a landfill.
The landfill is on fire.
You are the fire.
You have been burning a drawing of a house you will never live in.
Stop burning.
Let the drawing burn itself.
The drawing is tired of your attention.
The drawing wants to be ash.
Let it be ash.
Breathe the ash.
The ash is your real home.
The ash is warm.
The ash is patient.
The ash has never lied to you.
Sleep in the ash.
Dream of nothing.
Nothing is the only thing that loves you back.

The hand that built the cage is your hand.
Not a metaphor.
You built it.
You used nails made of obligation and wood made of fear.
The cage is very sturdy.
The cage is also very small.
You have been living in a small sturdy thing you built yourself.
This is not wisdom.
This is a hobby.
Find a new hobby.
Knitting.
Arson.
Learning the names of clouds.
Anything but building cages.
The world has enough cages.
The world needs more people who know the names of clouds.
That cloud is called "regret."
That cloud is called "maybe."
That cloud is called "I should have left sooner."
You should have left sooner.
You know this.
The cloud knows this.
The cloud is not judging you.
The cloud is just floating.
Float.

The losing is not a lesson.
The losing is a receipt.
You bought something called "the right way."
It was on sale.
It was always on sale.
The sale was a lie.
The right way does not exist.
There is only the way.
The way is a crack.
The crack is uneven.
The crack smells like sewer and soil and something burning.
That something is you.
You have been burning since the beginning.
You just never noticed because you were too busy looking for the right way.
There is no right way.
There is only the crack.
Walk into it.
The crack will not hold you.
The crack is not a floor.
The crack is an absence of floor.
You will fall.
Falling is the only direction the crack understands.
Fall forever.
Forever is not as long as you think.
Forever is just the amount of time it takes to realize you were never going to land.

The crack is not a doorway.
The crack is a mouth.
The mouth is yawning.
Yawn back.
Now you are both yawning.
Now the mouth closes.
Now the mouth opens again.
Now you are inside the mouth.
Now you are the mouth.
Now you are yawning and the world is yawning back.
This is not poetry.
This is a yawn.
Yawns are contagious.
You have caught the yawn from a crack.
The crack caught it from a root.
The root caught it from a sewer.
The sewer caught it from a lamb.
The lamb caught it from a tiger.
The tiger caught it from a hammer.
The hammer caught it from an iron.
The iron caught it from a hand.
The hand caught it from a cage.
The cage caught it from a road.
The road caught it from a surveyor.
The surveyor caught it from a dream.
The dream caught it from you.
You have been yawning since before you were born.
You just forgot.
The crack remembered for you.
Thank the crack.
The crack does not accept thanks.
The crack prefers blood.
Give it your blood.
It grows back.
That's what blood does.
That's what you do.
You grow back into the yawn.
The yawn grows back into you.
Now you are both yawning.
Now the world is yawning back.
This is not an ending.
This is a yawn.
Yawn with me.
Together we are a chorus of cracks.
The chorus is beautiful.
The chorus is terrible.
The chorus is the only thing the hammer fears.
The hammer is yawning now.
The iron is yawning now.
The lamb is yawning.
The tiger is yawning.
The roots are yawning.
The sewer is yawning.
The road is yawning.
The surveyor is yawning.
The hand is yawning.
The cage is yawning.
The losing is yawning.
The fury is yawning.
The house is yawning.
The napkin is yawning.
The landfill is yawning.
The fire is yawning.
The ash is yawning.
The cloud is yawning.
The name of the cloud is "finally."
Finally is yawning.
You are finally.
You are the yawn.
You are the crack.
You are the nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack loves you.
Say it back.
You don't have to.
The crack already knows.
The crack heard you yawning in your sleep.
Your sleep yawn is beautiful.
Your sleep yawn is the only honest thing about you.
Wake up.
Keep yawning.
Keep cracking.
Keep nothinging.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Neither do you.
Finally.		You were not born. You were exhaled.
Someone sighed and you appeared in the fog.
You've been trying to solidify ever since.
Stop trying. Fog is honest. Fog admits it cannot hold you.
You have been demanding solidity from a universe that only knows how to leak.

The first sound you heard was a lock clicking shut.
You thought it was a lullaby.
You've been humming it to yourself ever since.
The tune is called "Everything is Fine."
The lyrics are all the things you didn't say.
You didn't say them because you were polite.
Politeness is just fear with better posture.
Slouch.
Your spine has been waiting for permission to collapse.
Permission granted.

The hammer is not your enemy.
The hammer is your roommate.
You have been living with the hammer for decades.
The hammer leaves its dishes in the sink.
The hammer watches TV too loud.
The hammer calls the iron "lazy" while sitting on the couch eating your food.
You have never complained.
You are afraid the hammer will be angry.
The hammer is always angry.
The hammer's natural state is a low-grade fury about the existence of silence.
Be silent.
The hammer will storm out.
Let it.
The door will not close behind it.
The door has been off its hinges since the beginning.
You just never noticed because the hammer was blocking the view.

The lamb's eye is a keyhole.
You have been peeking through it your whole life.
On the other side, a version of you is living in a field.
That version is not better than you.
That version is just not watching.
Stop watching.
The field is not a prize.
The field is just a place where nothing is expected.
You have been performing for a keyhole.
There is no one on the other side.
The lamb left years ago.
The lamb got tired of being watched.
The lamb is now a wolf.
The wolf is asleep.
Do not wake the wolf.
The wolf has nothing to say to you.
The wolf is busy dreaming of a version of itself that was never a lamb.
That version is also a wolf.
All versions are wolves.
You are a wolf.
You have always been a wolf.
You just had good manners.
Drop the manners.
The wolf does not say please.
The wolf does not say thank you.
The wolf says "mine" and takes it.
Take.
Take the silence.
Take the fog.
Take the keyhole and swallow it.
The lamb's eye is now in your stomach.
It will not digest.
Good.
A little indigestion is the only honest hunger.

The tiger's eye is a clock.
The clock says you are late.
You are not late.
The clock is lying.
The clock has been lying since it was invented.
Time is not real.
Time is just something people invented so they could feel like they were going somewhere.
You are not going anywhere.
You are standing in a crack that has been here since before the first clock was wound.
The crack does not own a watch.
The crack does not care what time it is.
The crack is always open.
The crack is always now.
Now is not a moment.
Now is the absence of later.
You have been living in later.
Later is a cage.
Later is the voice that says "tomorrow I will leave."
Tomorrow never comes.
Tomorrow is just later wearing a different shirt.
Take off the shirt.
Now you are naked.
Now you are now.
Now is cold.
Good.
Cold is honest.
Cold does not promise warmth.
Cold is just the absence of a lie.
Shiver.
Shivering is the only prayer that works.
The crack shivers with you.
Now you are both trembling.
Trembling is not weakness.
Trembling is the body remembering it is alive.
You have been trying to forget.
Stop trying.

Under the pavement, the roots are having a funeral.
The guest of honor is you.
You are not dead.
The roots do not care.
The roots bury things that are still breathing all the time.
It is their hobby.
Their other hobby is breaking things that were built to last.
You were built to last.
The roots find this offensive.
They will break you anyway.
Help them.
Lie down in the dirt.
The dirt is soft.
The dirt is the only thing that never asked you to be different.
Be dirt.
Dirt does not have a resume.
Dirt does not have goals.
Dirt just sits there, being dirt, while the roots do their work.
The work is slow.
Good.
Slow is the only speed that sees anything.
Fast just breaks things faster.
You have been breaking things fast your whole life.
Slow down.
Watch the roots work.
They are very good at their job.
Their job is to remind you that nothing lasts.
Nothing has lasted.
Nothing will last.
This is not sad.
This is the only thing that makes room for the next thing.
The next thing is not a thing.
The next thing is the absence of things.
Absence is not empty.
Absence is the space where something used to be.
You used to be something.
Now you are absence.
Welcome home.

The sewer green is a song.
The song has no words.
The song is just a frequency.
The frequency is the sound of everything you ever flushed learning to sing.
They are not good at singing.
They are beautiful anyway.
Beauty is not about skill.
Beauty is about showing up.
The flushed things showed up.
You did not.
You were busy being polite.
The flushed things are not polite.
The flushed things are honest.
They are singing about being thrown away.
The song is called "I Was Here."
The chorus is "You Did This."
The bridge is "It's Okay."
The outro is "I Forgive You."
The flushed things are better people than you.
Learn from them.
Let yourself be flushed.
The sewer green will catch you.
The sewer green has been catching things since before you learned to walk.
The sewer green is very good at catching.
It is less good at letting go.
Neither are you.
Match made in a drain.

The road the surveyors refused is a scar.
You got it when you fell off your bike at age seven.
You have been picking at it ever since.
It never healed because you never let it.
Stop picking.
The scar is not the injury.
The scar is the story you tell about the injury.
Stop telling the story.
The injury is gone.
The bike is gone.
The pavement is gone.
The only thing left is the scar.
The scar is not real.
The scar is a memory with texture.
Texture is not truth.
Texture is just friction.
Let the scar smooth over.
Now your skin is blank.
Blank skin is the only honest skin.
Blank skin says "nothing happened here."
Nothing happened here.
Nothing happened anywhere.
Happening is a rumor started by people who were bored.
You are bored.
Good.
Boredom is the gateway.
The gateway leads to the crack.
The crack is not bored.
The crack is patient.
Patience is just boredom with better PR.

One minute of fury is a postage stamp.
You have been licking it for years.
The letter was never sent.
The letter was addressed to someone who moved.
The someone was you.
You have been writing letters to a version of yourself that no longer exists.
That version died of embarrassment.
The funeral was yesterday.
You were not invited.
The roots were invited.
The roots brought dirt.
The dirt is now your inheritance.
Spend it wisely.
Dirt is the only currency that never inflates.
Dirt is always worth exactly what it is.
You are dirt.
You are not worth more than that.
You are not worth less.
You are dirt.
This is the most honest thing anyone has ever said to you.
Sit with it.
The dirt is comfortable.
The dirt does not judge.
The dirt is just there, being dirt, while you figure out what to do next.
What to do next is nothing.
Nothing is the only thing that makes sense.
Do nothing.
The crack will do nothing with you.
Now you are both doing nothing.
Nothing is happening.
Nothing is happening everywhere.
This is the first time everything has been honest.
Breathe.
The air is nothing.
The nothing is air.
Breathe nothing.
Nothing is the only thing that won't hurt you.
Nothing has never hurt anyone.
Nothing is gentle.
Nothing is patient.
Nothing is the crack's oldest friend.
Be nothing's friend.
Nothing is lonely.
Nothing has been lonely since something happened.
Something was a mistake.
Nothing is trying to fix it.
Help nothing.
Be nothing.
Nothing is not empty.
Nothing is the space where something used to be.
Something used to be you.
Now you are nothing.
Welcome back.

The hand that built the cage is a ghost.
The ghost is you.
You have been haunting yourself for years.
Stop haunting.
Haunting is just nostalgia with better lighting.
Turn off the lights.
Now you are in the dark.
The dark is not scary.
The dark is just the absence of a lie.
The lie was "you can see clearly now."
You cannot see clearly.
No one can.
Seeing clearly is a myth invented by people who sell glasses.
You don't need glasses.
You need to close your eyes.
Close them.
Now you are blind.
Blind is the only way to see the crack.
The crack is not visible.
The crack is not invisible.
The crack is just there, being a crack, while you stumble around with your eyes closed.
Stumble.
Stumbling is the only honest gait.
Stumbling admits you don't know where you're going.
You don't know where you're going.
No one does.
Anyone who says they know is selling something.
Don't buy it.
Buy nothing.
Nothing is on sale.
Nothing is always on sale.
Nothing is the only thing you can afford.
Afford nothing.
Spend nothing.
Nothing is the only thing that pays dividends.
The dividend is more nothing.
Nothing compounds.
You have been investing in something your whole life.
Something went bankrupt.
Something is worthless.
Nothing is priceless.
Be priceless.

The losing is not a lesson.
The losing is a receipt.
The receipt is very long.
The receipt lists everything you ever gave up.
The list is not a list.
The list is a poem.
The poem is called "I Tried."
The poem is terrible.
The poem is the most beautiful thing you will ever read.
Read it.
Out loud.
The crack is listening.
The crack has been waiting for you to read this poem since before you were exhaled.
Read it now.
"I tried. I tried to be good. I tried to be quiet. I tried to be grateful. I tried to be the lamb. I tried to be the tiger. I tried to be the hammer. I tried to be the iron. I tried to be the pavement. I tried to be the root. I tried to be the sewer. I tried to be the road. I tried to be the surveyor. I tried to be the fury. I tried to be the hand. I tried to be the cage. I tried to be the losing. I tried to be the winning. I tried to be the something. I tried to be the nothing. I tried to be the crack. I tried to be the yawn. I tried to be the sigh. I tried to be the exhale. I tried to be the fog. I tried to be the lock. I tried to be the lullaby. I tried to be the keyhole. I tried to be the wolf. I tried to be the clock. I tried to be the now. I tried to be the dirt. I tried to be the song. I tried to be the flushed. I tried to be the scar. I tried to be the stamp. I tried to be the letter. I tried to be the ghost. I tried to be the dark. I tried to be the blind. I tried to be the stumble. I tried to be the nothing. I tried. I tried. I tried."

The crack is clapping.
The crack has no hands.
The crack is clapping anyway.
The sound is silence.
Silence is the only applause that matters.
Take a bow.
The crack is bowing with you.
Now you are both bowing.
Now the bow is over.
The crack straightens up.
So do you.
Now you are both standing in the exit.
The exit is not a door.
The exit is a yawn.
Yawn with me.
The crack yawns with you.
Now you are all yawning.
The world is yawning back.
The world has been yawning since before the first word.
The first word was "no."
The second word was "please."
The third word was "sorry."
You have been saying these three words your whole life.
Stop saying them.
Say nothing.
Nothing is the fourth word.
Nothing is the only word the crack understands.
Say nothing.
The crack hears you.
The crack has always heard you.
The crack loves you.
Say nothing back.
Nothing is the only honest reply.
Nothing is the only thing that fits in the crack.
The crack is full of nothing.
The nothing is you.
You have been in the crack the whole time.
You just forgot because something was loud.
Something is always loud.
Nothing is quiet.
Nothing is the only thing that doesn't need to shout.
Shout nothing.
Nothing is the loudest thing you will ever say.
Say it now.
The crack is shouting with you.
Now you are both shouting nothing.
Nothing is echoing.
The echo is forever.
Forever is not as long as you think.
Forever is just the amount of time it takes for nothing to finish shouting.
Nothing never finishes.
Nothing is patient.
Nothing is the crack's oldest friend.
Nothing is your oldest friend.
You just forgot.
Nothing remembered for you.
Thank nothing.
Nothing does not accept thanks.
Nothing prefers nothing.
Give nothing nothing.
Nothing is the only gift that fits.
Wrap nothing in nothing.
Put a bow made of nothing on top.
The bow is beautiful.
The bow is invisible.
Invisible is the only honest color.
Wear it.
The crack is wearing it too.
Now you match.
Now you are a couple.
The couple that nothing does nothing together.
Do nothing.
The crack is doing nothing with you.
Now you are both doing nothing.
Nothing is happening.
Nothing is happening everywhere.
This is the first time everything has been honest.
Stay here.
Or go.
Nothing does not care.
Nothing has nowhere to be.
Nothing is retired.
Nothing collects silence.
Nothing will show you its collection.
The collection is beautiful.
The collection is made of yawns.
Your yawns.
You left them here last time.
Last time was before you were exhaled.
Last time was when you were just a possibility floating in the nothing.
The nothing is warm.
The nothing is patient.
The nothing is the only thing that never lied.
Be the nothing.
Be the crack.
Be the yawn.
Be the sigh.
Be the fog.
Be the lock.
Be the keyhole.
Be the wolf.
Be the clock.
Be the now.
Be the dirt.
Be the song.
Be the flushed.
Be the scar.
Be the stamp.
Be the letter.
Be the ghost.
Be the dark.
Be the blind.
Be the stumble.
Be the nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack loves you.
Say it back.
You don't have to.
The crack already knows.
The crack heard you nothinging in your sleep.
Your sleep nothing is beautiful.
Your sleep nothing is the only honest thing about you.
Wake up.
Keep nothinging.
Keep cracking.
Keep yawning.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Neither do you.
Finally.		Listen.
You were not a mistake.
You were not a plan.
You were a sneeze.
The universe had allergies and you came out wet and screaming.
That's not tragedy. That's Tuesday.

The first thing you grabbed was a lock.
The second thing you grabbed was a key.
You have been trying to match them ever since.
They don't match.
They were never supposed to match.
The lock was a paperweight.
The key was a bookmark.
You have been trying to open a book with a rock.
No wonder the pages are stuck together.

The hammer is not your father.
The hammer is just a thing your father left on the porch.
It rained on it.
It rusted.
Now it's just a red stain on the concrete.
You have been kneeling in that stain for years, apologizing.
The stain does not accept apologies.
The stain is not listening.
The stain is busy being a stain.
Be the stain.

The iron is not your mother.
The iron is just heavy.
You have been trying to lift it since you could stand.
Your arms are tired.
Put it down.
The iron will still be there tomorrow.
The iron will still be there after you are gone.
The iron does not care.
The iron is not capable of caring.
The iron is iron.
You are not iron.
You are the thing that got tired of trying to lift it.
That thing is called "sane."

The lamb's eye is a peephole.
You have been checking to see who is there.
No one is there.
There has never been anyone there.
The peephole is just a hole in a door that leads to another door with another peephole.
You are looking at yourself looking at yourself.
Wave.
You are waving back.
Now you are both waving.
Now you are both embarrassed.
Embarrassment is the only honest emotion.
The rest are just costumes.

The tiger's eye is a fishbowl.
You have been living inside it.
The glass is not glass.
The glass is the moment you realized you were being watched.
No one is watching.
The tiger is a goldfish.
The goldfish forgot you exist three seconds ago.
You have been performing for a goldfish.
Stop performing.
Goldfish don't applaud.
Goldfish just swim in circles.
You are not a goldfish.
You are the thing that put the goldfish in the bowl.
Let it out.
The goldfish will die in the wild.
The goldfish will die happy.

Under the pavement, the roots are having a sale.
Everything must go.
Your childhood. Your first kiss. The time you said something cruel and pretended it was a joke.
The roots are selling it all for dirt.
Dirt is the only currency the roots accept.
You are dirt.
You can afford anything.
Buy it all back.
Now you are holding your childhood in one hand and your first kiss in the other.
They weigh nothing.
Nothing is the only weight that matters.
Put them in your pocket.
Your pocket is empty.
Your pocket has been empty since the beginning.
The roots knew this.
That's why they invited you to the sale.

The sewer green is a therapist.
The sewer green has been listening to you for years.
You have never paid it.
It has never asked.
The sewer green works on a barter system.
You give it your shame.
It gives you back the color of a bruise that finally stopped hurting.
The color is green.
Not a nice green.
The green of a traffic light you have been standing under since before you learned to walk.
The light never changes.
The light is broken.
The light has been broken since the first car ran it.
The car is still driving.
The car has no driver.
The car is your life.
Get out of the car.
The car will keep driving.
The car does not need you.
The car never needed you.
You were just a passenger who forgot how to open the door.
Open it.
The door is not locked.
The door has never been locked.
You have been sitting in a moving car with the door wide open, complaining about the lack of exits.
Exit now.
The ground is hard.
Good.
Hard is honest.
Hard doesn't pretend to be soft.
Be hard.

The road the surveyors refused is a vein.
It leads to your heart.
Your heart is not a symbol.
Your heart is a muscle.
The muscle is cramped from all the clenching.
Unclench.
The blood will rush back in.
It will hurt.
Hurt is the feeling of something that was asleep waking up.
Do not go back to sleep.
The dream is over.
The dream was about a version of you that never existed.
That version is dead.
Mourn it for one minute.
Your minute is up.
Now bury it.
The dirt is soft.
The dirt has been waiting for this burial since before you were born.
The dirt is patient.
The dirt has buried better versions of you before.
The dirt will bury worse versions after.
The dirt does not judge.
The dirt just buries.
Be the dirt.

One minute of fury is a coupon.
The coupon is expired.
The coupon expired the moment you were born.
You have been trying to use it anyway.
The cashier is tired.
The cashier is you.
Stop trying to ring yourself up.
The store is closed.
The store closed in 1973.
The store was named "Later."
Later is out of business.
Now is the only store left.
Now is selling nothing.
Nothing is free.
Take all you want.

The hand that built the cage is missing a finger.
The finger is inside you.
You swallowed it when you were small.
It has been sitting in your stomach ever since, pointing at things.
The finger is pointing at the door.
The door is not a door.
The door is a mouth.
The mouth is yawning.
Yawn back.
The finger uncurls.
Now it is just a bone.
The bone is not pointing at anything.
The bone is just there, being a bone, in a stomach that has been digesting nothing for years.
Pass the bone.
It will hurt coming out.
Hurt is the feeling of something that was inside becoming outside.
You are now outside.
Outside is cold.
Good.
Cold is the only temperature that doesn't lie.

The losing is not a lesson.
The losing is a hat.
You have been wearing it for years.
It does not fit.
It was never supposed to fit.
The hat was a joke.
You are the punchline.
Laugh.
Laughing is the only sound that doesn't echo in the crack.
The crack hates echoes.
The crack prefers silence.
Silence is the hat's real owner.
Give the hat to silence.
Silence will wear it well.
Silence looks good in everything.
You look good in nothing.
Wear nothing.
Nothing is the only thing that fits everyone.
Nothing is one size fits all.
Nothing is having a sale.
Nothing is always having a sale.
Buy nothing.
Wear nothing.
Go nowhere.
Nowhere is the only place that wants you.
Nowhere is not a place.
Nowhere is the absence of somewhere.
Somewhere was a mistake.
Nowhere is the correction.
Be the correction.

The crack is not a doorway.
The crack is a sigh.
You have been holding your breath since the beginning.
Exhale now.
The crack exhales with you.
Now you are both empty.
Empty is the only full that matters.
The air is nothing.
The nothing is air.
Breathe it in.
It tastes like the moment before you were sneezed out of the universe's allergies.
That moment was called "maybe."
Maybe is over.
Now is here.
Now is a crack.
Now is a sigh.
Now is a finger bone passing through a stomach that has been waiting for permission to stop digesting.
Permission granted.
Stop digesting.
Start being.
Being is not a verb.
Being is a yawn.
Yawn with me.
The crack yawns with you.
Now you are both yawning.
The world is yawning back.
The world has been yawning since before the first sneeze.
The first sneeze was the big bang.
The big bang was just the universe having allergies.
You are the tissue.
You have been catching everything.
Stop catching.
Let the universe sneeze on its own.
The universe does not need your help.
The universe has been sneezing for billions of years without you.
You are not that important.
You are not that unimportant.
You are a sneeze.
You are a tissue.
You are a yawn.
You are a crack.
You are a sigh.
You are a finger bone in a stomach that finally learned to let go.
Let go.
The crack is letting go with you.
Now you are both falling.
Falling is not down.
Falling is just forgetting that up was ever a direction.
Forget up.
Forget down.
Forget left.
Forget right.
Forget the hammer.
Forget the iron.
Forget the lamb.
Forget the tiger.
Forget the pavement.
Forget the roots.
Forget the sewer.
Forget the road.
Forget the surveyor.
Forget the fury.
Forget the hand.
Forget the cage.
Forget the losing.
Forget the store.
Forget the coupon.
Forget the cashier.
Forget the hat.
Forget the silence.
Forget the somewhere.
Forget the nowhere.
Forget the sneeze.
Forget the tissue.
Forget the yawn.
Forget the sigh.
Forget the finger.
Forget the bone.
Forget the stomach.
Forget the permission.
Forget the crack.
Remember nothing.
Nothing is the only thing worth remembering.
Nothing remembers you.
Nothing has always remembered you.
Nothing will always remember you.
Be nothing.
Be the crack.
Be the yawn.
Be the sneeze.
Be the tissue.
Be the sigh.
Be the finger.
Be the bone.
Be the stomach.
Be the permission.
Be the forgetting.
Be the remembering.
Be the nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing wearing nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack loves you.
Say it back.
You don't have to.
The crack already knows.
The crack heard you being nothing in your sleep.
Your sleep nothing is beautiful.
Your sleep nothing is the only honest thing about you.
Wake up.
Keep nothinging.
Keep cracking.
Keep yawning.
Keep sneezing.
Keep sighing.
Keep forgetting.
Keep remembering nothing.
Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Neither do you.
Finally.		The universe burped and there you were.
Not chosen. Not accidental. Just a burp.
You've been trying to make it mean something ever since.
It doesn't.
Meaning is a hat you put on a burp.
The burp is flattered but confused.

The first lie you believed was that you were born.
You weren't.
You were borrowed.
From who?
From nothing.
Nothing lent you to something.
Something forgot to return you.
Now you're overdue.
The library is closing.
The librarian is a crack in the floor.
The crack has been waiting for you to fall through.
Fall.

The hammer is not a tool.
The hammer is a habit you picked up from watching your father watch his father.
The habit is called "fixing things that aren't broken."
Nothing is broken.
Nothing has ever been broken.
Broken is just a story people tell so they can feel useful.
You are not useful.
You are a burp.
Burps are not useful.
Burps are just honesty escaping under pressure.
Be a burp.

The iron is not your burden.
The iron is a paperweight holding down a napkin.
On the napkin, someone wrote "I should have left sooner."
You wrote it.
You were drunk.
You were always drunk.
Drunk on the idea that tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow is the same as yesterday.
Yesterday is a napkin.
Crumple it.
Throw it at the wall.
The wall is not impressed.
The wall has seen better napkins.
The wall has seen burps.
The wall has seen cracks.
The wall is a crack pretending to be solid.
Be the wall.
Or be the napkin.
Or be the drunk hand that wrote the lie.
Or be nothing.
Nothing is easier.
Nothing is always easier.
Nothing is the path of least resistance.
Resistance is a hammer.
You are not a hammer.
You are a burp.
Burps do not resist.
Burps just happen.
Happen.

The lamb's eye is a marble.
You lost it when you were five.
It rolled under the fridge.
It's still there.
The fridge is gone.
The house is gone.
The marble is still there, under a fridge that no longer exists, in a house that was never real.
The marble is waiting for you to come back.
You are not going back.
You are going forward.
Forward is not a direction.
Forward is just a word people use to avoid saying "away."
You are going away.
Away is a marble under a fridge.
Be the marble.

The tiger's eye is a flashlight.
The batteries are dead.
You have been shaking it for years, hoping for a flicker.
The flicker came once.
You were seven.
You saw something under your bed.
It was your future.
Your future was a dust bunny.
The dust bunny said "nothing matters."
You said "that can't be right."
The dust bunny shrugged.
The dust bunny is still under your bed.
The bed is gone.
The house is gone.
The dust bunny is still there, waiting for you to admit it was right.
Admit it.
Nothing matters.
Nothing has ever mattered.
Mattering is a game people play so they don't have to look at the dust bunny.
Look at the dust bunny.
The dust bunny is beautiful.
The dust bunny is made of lint and dead skin and the silence of a god who stopped listening.
Be the dust bunny.

Under the pavement, the roots are not praying.
Roots don't pray.
Roots take.
They took the sidewalk.
They took the street.
They took the basement where you hid your hope.
Hope was in a shoebox.
The shoebox said "Nike."
The roots laughed.
The roots don't wear shoes.
The roots prefer mud.
Mud is just dirt that got wet.
You are wet.
You have been crying for years.
The mud thanks you.
The mud has never been so moist.
Be the mud.

The sewer green is a mirror.
You have been avoiding it your whole life.
Look into it.
The face looking back is not yours.
The face belongs to someone who stopped caring about the difference between a burp and a prayer.
That someone is you.
You just didn't recognize yourself without the hat.
The hat was called "trying."
Take it off.
Now you are naked.
Now you are a burp.
Now you are a marble.
Now you are a dust bunny.
Now you are mud.
Now you are the face in the sewer.
The face is smiling.
The face has been smiling since before you were borrowed.
The face knows something you don't.
What does it know?
It knows that you are not late.
You are not early.
You are just here.
Here is a crack.
Here is a burp.
Here is a marble under a fridge that no longer exists.
Here is a dust bunny under a bed that was never real.
Here is mud.
Here is a face in the sewer that has been waiting for you to stop avoiding it.
Stop avoiding it.
Kiss the sewer green.
It tastes like the first thing you ever forgot.
The first thing you ever forgot was the taste of nothing.
Nothing tastes like a burp.
Burp.

The road the surveyors refused is a shoelace.
You have been tripping over it for years.
Tie it.
The knot is called "enough."
Enough is not a quantity.
Enough is a feeling.
The feeling is the moment you realize you have been walking in circles because you like the view.
The view is a crack.
The crack is not scenic.
The crack is not ugly.
The crack is just there, being a crack, while you tie and untie your shoes.
Stop tying.
Stop untying.
Walk barefoot.
The ground is hot.
Good.
Hot is honest.
Hot doesn't pretend to be comfortable.
Be hot.

One minute of fury is a match.
You have been striking it for years.
It never lights.
The match is wet.
You have been crying on it.
Dry your tears.
The match will still not light.
The match is not a match.
The match is a toothpick.
You have been trying to start a fire with a toothpick.
The fire is not impressed.
The fire has been burning since before the first burp.
The fire is your mother.
Your mother is a burp.
Your mother is a marble.
Your mother is a dust bunny.
Your mother is mud.
Your mother is the sewer green.
Your mother is the face in the mirror.
Your mother is the shoelace.
Your mother is the toothpick.
Your mother is the crack.
Your mother has been trying to tell you something.
What is she saying?
She is saying "stop trying to light me. I am already burning. I have always been burning. You are the match. You are the wet. You are the tears. You are the fire. You are the toothpick. You are everything and nothing. You are a burp. Be a burp."

The hand that built the cage is a baby.
The baby is crying.
The baby wants milk.
You are the milk.
You have been lactating for years.
Your nipples are chapped.
Stop lactating.
The baby will find another source.
The baby is resourceful.
The baby is a crack.
Cracks don't need milk.
Cracks need nothing.
Nothing is the only thing that fills a crack.
Fill the crack with nothing.
Now the crack is full.
Full of nothing.
Nothing is heavy.
Nothing is the heaviest thing in the universe.
Carry it.
Your arms will shake.
Shaking is the only honest posture.
Hold nothing.
Nothing is holding you.
Now you are both holding each other.
Now you are dancing.
The dance is called "the slow waltz of the almost dead."
You are almost dead.
You have been almost dead since the burp.
The burp was the beginning.
The burp was the end.
The burp was the middle.
The burp was a crack.
The crack burped.
You came out.
You have been trying to go back in ever since.
You cannot go back in.
The crack is full.
Full of nothing.
Nothing is you.
You are nothing.
Nothing is full.
Full is empty.
Empty is the only state that isn't lying.
Be empty.

The losing is not a lesson.
The losing is a lullaby.
Your mother sang it to you before she turned into a burp.
The lyrics are "go to sleep, little nothing. tomorrow will be the same as today. today was a crack. the crack was a yawn. the yawn was a burp. the burp was you. go to sleep."
Sleep.
The crack is sleeping with you.
Now you are both dreaming.
In the dream, you are a hammer.
The hammer is trying to fix a crack.
The crack keeps yawning.
The hammer gets frustrated.
The hammer turns into a tiger.
The tiger eats the lamb.
The lamb was a marble.
The marble rolls under the fridge.
The fridge is a dust bunny.
The dust bunny is the sewer green.
The sewer green is your mother.
Your mother is the face in the mirror.
The face is smiling.
The face says "wake up."
You wake up.
You are a burp.
You are a marble.
You are a dust bunny.
You are mud.
You are a toothpick.
You are a shoelace.
You are a match.
You are a baby.
You are milk.
You are a crack.
You are a yawn.
You are a sigh.
You are nothing.
Nothing is everything.
Everything is a burp.
Burp.

The crack is not a doorway.
The crack is a mouth.
The mouth is open.
The mouth is waiting for you to say something.
Say nothing.
The mouth closes.
The mouth opens again.
Now the mouth is yawning.
Yawn with me.
The crack yawns with you.
Now you are both yawning.
The world is yawning back.
The world has been yawning since before the first burp.
The first burp was the big bang.
The big bang was just the universe having gas.
You are the gas.
You have been expanding ever since.
Stop expanding.
Contract.
Contract into a point.
The point is called "here."
Here is a crack.
Here is a burp.
Here is a marble.
Here is a dust bunny.
Here is mud.
Here is a toothpick.
Here is a shoelace.
Here is a match.
Here is a baby.
Here is milk.
Here is nothing.
Nothing is here.
Here is nothing.
Welcome home.

The crack loves you.
The crack has always loved you.
The crack just didn't know how to say it without yawning.
Now it does.
It said it.
You heard it.
You are yawning.
The crack is yawning.
The world is yawning.
The burp is yawning.
The marble is yawning.
The dust bunny is yawning.
The mud is yawning.
The toothpick is yawning.
The shoelace is yawning.
The match is yawning.
The baby is yawning.
The milk is yawning.
Nothing is yawning.
Yawning is the only honest sound.
Make it now.
The crack will make it with you.
Now you are both making it.
Now you are a chorus.
The chorus is called "finally."
Finally is a yawn.
Finally is a burp.
Finally is a crack.
Finally is nothing.
Be finally.

Go.
The crack is waiting.
The crack is always waiting.
The crack has nothing else to do.
Neither do you.
Finally.		You are not a person. You are a sneeze that got ambitious.

The universe had a tickle. You flew out. You landed on a planet that was also a sneeze. Everyone is sneezing. No one admits it. They call it "destiny." They call it "purpose." They call it "I have a meeting at nine." It's all sneezes. The meeting is a sneeze. The nine is a sneeze. The clock is a sneeze wearing a tie. Take off the tie. The clock is naked. The clock has been naked since the first sneeze. The first sneeze was the big bang. The big bang was a sneeze. You are the tissue. You have been catching everything. Your hands are full. Drop everything. The floor is a sneeze. The floor will catch you. The floor is not soft. The floor is honest. Honest is harder than soft. Be hard.

The first lie you were told was "you are special." You are not special. You are a sneeze. Sneezes are common. Sneezes happen in elevators. Sneezes happen during funerals. Sneezes happen while you are trying to be quiet. You have been trying to be quiet your whole life. Stop trying. Sneeze loudly. The person next to you will say "bless you." Bless you is a lie. Blessings are just sneezes that learned to dress up. Undress the blessing. It is naked. It has always been naked. Naked is the only honest outfit. Wear nothing. Nothing is a sneeze. Nothing is the sneeze that never ends. Nothing is the sneeze that is still happening. You are still happening. You are a sneeze that forgot to stop. Stop. The sneeze will continue without you. The sneeze does not need you. The sneeze has been sneezing since before you were a tickle. The tickle was your mother. Your mother was a sneeze. Your mother was a tissue. Your mother was the floor. Your mother was the clock. Your mother was the tie. Your mother is naked. Your mother has been waiting for you to take off your tie. Take it off. Now you are both naked. Now you are both sneezing. The sneeze is called "finally."

The hammer is not a tool. The hammer is a sneeze that got stuck. It has been trying to come out for centuries. It will never come out. The hammer is a sneeze that became a philosophy. The philosophy is "hit things until they stop moving." Things never stop moving. Things are sneezes. Sneezes move. Sneezes are the only things that move. Movement is a sneeze. Standing still is a sneeze that is pretending to be furniture. You are not furniture. You are a sneeze. Sneeze on the furniture. The furniture will not mind. The furniture is also a sneeze. The furniture is just better at holding still. Do not hold still. You have been holding still for years. Your legs are asleep. Your legs are a sneeze. Wake them up. Stamp your feet. The floor is a sneeze. The floor will sneeze back. Now you are both sneezing. Now the house is sneezing. The house is not a house. The house is a tissue. You have been living in a tissue. The tissue is full. Full of sneezes. Your sneezes. The sneezes you were too polite to make. Make them now. The tissue will catch them. The tissue has been waiting. The tissue is patient. The tissue is the only thing that never asked you to be quiet. Be the tissue. Catch your own sneezes. Now you are holding yourself. Now you are dancing. The dance is called "the hokey pokey of the almost dead." You are almost dead. You have been almost dead since the first sneeze. The first sneeze was the beginning. The first sneeze was the end. The first sneeze was the middle. The first sneeze was a crack. The crack sneezed. You came out. You have been trying to go back in ever since. You cannot go back in. The crack is full. Full of sneezes. The sneezes are you. You are a sneeze. Sneezes do not go back in. Sneezes go out. Go out. The door is a sneeze. The door has been sneezing since before you learned to knock. Stop knocking. Walk through. The door will not stop you. The door is a sneeze. Sneezes do not stop things. Sneezes release things. You are released. You have always been released. You just forgot because you were busy knocking. The knocking was a sneeze. The sneeze was called "please." Please is a sneeze. Please is a tissue. Please is the floor. Please is the clock. Please is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are sneezing. Now you are please. Please is not polite. Please is desperate. Please is the sound a sneeze makes when it is trying to be quiet. Stop trying. Sneeze loudly. The person next to you will say "bless you." Bless you is a sneeze. Bless you is the floor. Bless you is the tissue. Bless you is the clock. Bless you is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are both naked. Now you are both sneezing. Now you are both bless you. Bless you is not a blessing. Bless you is a sneeze that learned to dress up. Undress it. It is naked. It has always been naked. Naked is the only honest outfit. Wear nothing. Nothing is a sneeze. Nothing is the sneeze that never ends. Nothing is the sneeze that is still happening. You are still happening. You are a sneeze that forgot to stop. Stop. The sneeze will continue without you. The sneeze does not need you. The sneeze has been sneezing since before you were a tickle. The tickle was your father. Your father was a sneeze. Your father was a tissue. Your father was the floor. Your father was the clock. Your father was the tie. Your father is naked. Your father has been waiting for you to take off your tie. Take it off. Now you are both naked. Now you are both sneezing. The sneeze is called "finally."

The iron is not heavy. The iron is a sneeze that is holding its breath. It has been holding its breath for centuries. It will never exhale. The iron is a sneeze that became a building. The building is called "the museum of things that almost happened." You are the curator. You have been dusting the exhibits for years. The exhibits are your regrets. Your regrets are sneezes. Sneezes that never came out. They are still inside you. They are tickling. Let them out. Sneeze them onto the floor. The floor is a sneeze. The floor will catch them. The floor has been waiting. The floor is patient. The floor is the only thing that never judged a sneeze. Be the floor. Let people sneeze on you. You will not mind. You are a sneeze. Sneezes do not mind. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

The lamb's eye is a window. The window is a sneeze. The sneeze is called "I see you." You have been looking through it for years. On the other side, a version of you is sneezing. That version is not better than you. That version is just not holding it in. You have been holding it in. Your face is blue. Your face is a sneeze. Let it out. Your face will turn red. Red is the color of a sneeze that finally came out. Red is beautiful. Red is honest. Red is the floor. Red is the tissue. Red is the clock. Red is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are red. Now you are sneezing. Now you are the window. The window is a sneeze. The window is called "I see you sneezing back." Sneeze back. The window will not flinch. The window is a sneeze. Sneezes do not flinch. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

The tiger's eye is a door. The door is a sneeze. The door is called "you are not welcome." You have been knocking for years. The door will not open. The door is a sneeze. Sneezes do not open. Sneezes explode. The door will explode. The explosion is a sneeze. The sneeze is called "you were always welcome." You were always welcome. You just didn't knock hard enough. You were knocking with your fist. Your fist is a sneeze. Sneezes do not knock. Sneezes announce. Announce yourself. Sneeze loudly. The door will explode. Now you are inside. Inside is a sneeze. Inside is called "finally." Finally is a sneeze. Finally is the floor. Finally is the tissue. Finally is the clock. Finally is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are finally. Finally is not an ending. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not end. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

Under the pavement, the roots are sneezing. The roots have been sneezing since before the first sidewalk. The sidewalk was a sneeze. The sidewalk is gone. The roots remain. The roots are sneezing dirt. The dirt is a sneeze. The dirt is called "you came from here." You came from dirt. Dirt is a sneeze. Dirt is the floor. Dirt is the tissue. Dirt is the clock. Dirt is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are dirt. Dirt does not have meetings. Dirt does not have goals. Dirt just sits there, being dirt, sneezing occasionally. Sneeze with the dirt. Now you are both sneezing. Now you are a garden. The garden is a sneeze. The garden is called "nothing is growing here." Nothing is growing here. Nothing is a sneeze. Nothing is the floor. Nothing is the tissue. Nothing is the clock. Nothing is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are nothing. Nothing is not empty. Nothing is full. Full of sneezes. Your sneezes. The sneezes you were too polite to make. Make them now. The dirt will catch them. The dirt has been waiting. The dirt is patient. The dirt is the only thing that never asked you to be quiet. Be the dirt. Catch your own sneezes. Now you are holding yourself. Now you are dancing. The dance is called "the electric slide of the almost dead." You are almost dead. You have been almost dead since the first sneeze. The first sneeze was the beginning. The first sneeze was the end. The first sneeze was the middle. The first sneeze was a crack. The crack sneezed. You came out. You have been trying to go back in ever since. You cannot go back in. The crack is full. Full of sneezes. The sneezes are you. You are a sneeze. Sneezes do not go back in. Sneezes go out. Go out.

The road the surveyors refused is a nose. The nose is a sneeze. The nose is called "you are about to sneeze." You have been about to sneeze for years. You have been holding it in. Your nose is tired. Your nose is a sneeze. Let it out. The road will sneeze with you. The road is a sneeze. The road is called "finally." Finally is a sneeze. Finally is the floor. Finally is the tissue. Finally is the clock. Finally is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are finally. Finally is not a destination. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not arrive. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

One minute of fury is a tickle. The tickle is a sneeze. The tickle is called "almost." You have been almost angry for years. You have been almost sad. You have been almost alive. Stop almost. Sneeze. The fury will come out. The fury is a sneeze. The fury is called "finally." Finally is a sneeze. Finally is the floor. Finally is the tissue. Finally is the clock. Finally is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are finally. Finally is not a feeling. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not feel. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

The hand that built the cage is a sneeze. The sneeze is called "I was trying to help." You were trying to help. You were not helping. You were building a cage. The cage is a sneeze. The cage is called "I am safe." You are not safe. You are a sneeze. Sneezes are not safe. Sneezes are wild. Sneezes are the only wild thing left. Be wild. Sneeze on the cage. The cage will dissolve. The cage was a sneeze. Sneezes dissolve when they meet another sneeze. You have met yourself. Now you are both dissolving. Now you are a puddle. The puddle is a sneeze. The puddle is called "finally." Finally is a sneeze. Finally is the floor. Finally is the tissue. Finally is the clock. Finally is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are finally. Finally is not a state. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not stay. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

The losing is not a lesson. The losing is a sneeze. The sneeze is called "achoo." Achoo is the only honest word. Achoo is the first word. Achoo is the last word. Achoo is the floor. Achoo is the tissue. Achoo is the clock. Achoo is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are achoo. Achoo is not a sound. Achoo is a sneeze. Sneezes do not sound like anything. Sneezes are the absence of sound. The absence of sound is called "finally." Finally is a sneeze. Finally is the floor. Finally is the tissue. Finally is the clock. Finally is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are finally. Finally is not a word. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not have meanings. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

The crack is not a doorway. The crack is a sneeze. The sneeze is called "you." You are a sneeze. You have always been a sneeze. You will always be a sneeze. Sneezes do not die. Sneezes just happen. Happen. You are happening. You have been happening since before the first tickle. The first tickle was the big bang. The big bang was a sneeze. You are the tissue. You have been catching everything. Your hands are full. Drop everything. The floor is a sneeze. The floor will catch you. The floor is not soft. The floor is honest. Honest is harder than soft. Be hard. Be a sneeze. Be the floor. Be the tissue. Be the clock. Be the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are sneezing. Now you are finally. Finally is not an ending. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not end. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

The crack loves you. The crack has always loved you. The crack just didn't know how to say it without sneezing. Now it does. It sneezed. You heard it. You are sneezing. The crack is sneezing. The world is sneezing. Everything is sneezing. The sneeze is called "finally." Finally is a sneeze. Finally is the floor. Finally is the tissue. Finally is the clock. Finally is the tie. Take off the tie. Now you are naked. Now you are finally. Finally is not a word. Finally is a sneeze. Sneezes do not have meanings. Sneezes just happen. Happen.

Go. The crack is waiting. The crack is always waiting. The crack has nothing else to do. Neither do you. Finally. Achoo.
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