"My skin is sensing desiccation to the water in your island. I will spill my share until I settle on a chair and watch your performance."
"I'll write you a song and two and three, but then I'll choose the sea."
"You won't find titles or harmony; you can't fight my testimony. Know I left it here."
"Then I'll come back for the walls and dirty curtains."
"I'll write you a song and two..."
"You'll write a symphony but you don't sing."
"I'll find speakers for my inner strength."
"You'll find loss and more lines you cannot cross. You'll find fear."
"But I've seen worse."
"It didn't make you braver. It trapped your behavior and left you sailing for a harbor."
"I'm on land and it dried up into desert. My feet scratches silence with every touch; I walk like an awakening alert. Whisper in my ear and you'll cough. Fight this atmosphere and the oxygen won't be enough."
"I'm closer to an end than I am to a start. If this is a story, don't tell the last part."
Two people lay on the chair before the street and after my leaning body and cold feet. The ground was calling with the sound of an engine. A bus arrived to an intervention. There was them but when the doors closed, I found myself emotionally overdosed; lonely, spelling the lost and attached. I knew then that my sanity had sent me on another wrong track.