(masking end)

My brain is a tear in our celluloid skin, marking unsteady alabaster for the days our breath draws thin.

I'm still burying certain words today. feelings i'm still not ready to face. the facts of what matter most to me in the morning before i find the succour of sleep coming down to quell wandering images of the countless people i've been.

I'm just not ready yet.

There's too much to answer to. too much ahead to take the chance of discovering i've squandered one ounce of this gift.