youfixus
We are fixed into place, never moving. The best haircuts are taken, so where do we go from here? Up, down, all around; we're just revolving around each other, fitting into the little spaces of each other's minds. Crushed, made to fit, little pieces shaved off and folded inwards until hardly anything is left. When you crush me like a can, what's left? Compacted into a series of flickering explosions like the bare light bulb in the middle of your room, omnipresent, omniscient, seeing every white lie you tell. When you tell a white lie in a white room, does your bird's beak disappear completely? Is white on white nothingness?