Morning creeps through my windows in the after math of night.....another time to think of how quiet it can be ....the world dreaming...wrestling with demons...thinking under the same sky as me...so tiny among so much decoration....one tiny bead in a chain ....a piece of a puzzle....lost in time space and slighted glances....someone told me I did really have a look that made people want to crawl inside me and see what can be seen....what can be known...and it made me laugh....made me look deeply into the eyes that didnt really look just flashed through me....the attention that never listens....people are strange...think that their concerns or cheap words can move another....sweet almond oil can make the roughest skin as smooth as a baby...and soaking in it...can be heavenly making skin as soft as talc....softer even....almost too soft to touch....and if touched...gently....but whose fingers could resist devouring its smoothness....making it less specially soft....more like water...is it worth it this tampering with softness.....is it necessary or infinitely unexplainable as to how many universes exist outside my window both above and below the earth....can angels listen....and hold me when I slip and fall on my face thinking that I do not need anything special other than air....that regardless of the shape of empty holes in my stomach I can still breathe....sometimes during still winded days I even think of perfect drops of rain falling on my eyelashes again....sometimes I think of walking in the rain in the summer....dancing at midnight....for brief seconds till...unconcerned concern...false touches...and hopeful killing of emotion tempt me ....tempt me to find comfort in my solitude and satisfaction with knowing I was meant to walk alone for some reason....for some disillusioned moments butterflies flutter around my head and speak in tongues unknown to me saying that its ok to work pieces with only one piece...that hiding under the sofa is safer than standing on the roof while its storming outside....the walls breathe the ground rises and the ceiling lowers itself over thought like a tomb....burying deep inside its unmarked grave....a seed...protected by earth...nourished by rain...waiting for sun.