follow the compass of your heart.
it was a card, readied for a trip east.
as blatant a lie as everyone's life.
i stopped believing what I read.
a new message from ...
still I don't believe what I read.
chest caved in with sensations
indescribable even to a sage.
it was a hand tortured
behind its holder's back.
it was an eternity
of the single second's fraction
twisting the lungs out,
twisting the stomach out,
everything inside out.
The bust of 100,000 fantasies
simultaneously pressing on the chest.
Indescribable even by a poet.
screaming at low volumes
