There is a thin line we walk on our side of dreams. I am pulling the thread now it’s taut, the tapestry is unweaved by fear, by doubt, by any other thing unbecoming - at all unsightly. We have a long way to walk to clarity in everything and all at once I am pulling the thread now it’s taught. A whole life that you had forgot. There used to be a city here. Bullet bits stuck in skin, the frailty of flesh, running colored days. I’m reaching for your threads. Words gnaw through my walls, a moonlit, soft window. I am dreaming in a tidal-waved ocean. I am drawn back to the neon glow of all of this shit. And I hate it. Oh, god. I hate it. How can you know when you know? There used to be a city here. Look around. There used to be a city here.