In celebration of silence. A perspired treasures worked for by others. I'm ungrateful in ways. I'm more interested in the weather. I'm thinking of a place that doesn't exist. A crop formation in my head planted by the dead missing their lonely children for watching me purposefully overdosing cla**-C narcotics. I don't deserve it. I carelessly pant on the oxygen they cherish just the way our breath seeks life. They watch me f**ing and forgetting. Speeding by the exits, I saw beauty in not ever looking back. Wasted choices scream their voices. I'm alive and among the dead gathered around in my head expecting me to open my arms to a deity among my astral plane. They follow me in my trails waiting for me to find a meaning I've yearned for. They know what I know, that the place I'm looking for, the open fields, the warm sensation, the real. We're all on the wrong side of the wall. I wish you could hug your children and complete your wives while I watch alone, as everything.