In that vast expanse between the real and the perceived, the stretch of black bottomless water stills, and that tireless dancer whirls and whirls, burning the surface in a blur of flame and steam. Eyes open, and, alive after all, you smooth the blood from your scalp, staring at your strangers hands. Something shifted beneath the firmament, something changed in the springs and gears. One days sure tomorrow dissolves into fantasy, into ache and memory. Bruised and beaten down to the trembling bones, your heart sings its death-song, and you stand upon these clouds of dust and vapor. Staring at the ceiling as if it was the sky. Talking to the room as if god would ever listen.
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