Hyposubject

I tried to convey my dreams into the cold of living by announcement.

I thought I could think that way.

Are they dangerous to the world, my thoughts of paradise between things?

I don’t remember much about my second life, though at times I have nightmares and return.

Hassle and repetition. Commotion and schedule. Hoarding and planning.

My tools stung me, but sometimes they were obvious.

Words have seemed false to me, and sometimes they were.

I am overwhelmed by the following: pain, regret.

I want to mourn the life I have lived.

To die a death: I don’t know how easy it will be.