I can't say thank you though I owe you so. Regards, a hand on the casket, a soft varnish appeasing the wish to plunge nails in the wood. Such a nice cover, a smooth finish, trying its best to keep up appearances and all you're left with is ignorance. You never told me who I was.
Long cut, bent neck, turning around the pot that is my own tomb. When did I put on that face, too sweet to the world it can only be brought out once you cannot risk losing it. I want to smile. Smile to the whole world stage. Smile too close to the no-more-mask displayed in death.
If I crack up I might just croak. The layer is too thin, irremediable crevasses.
The foundations of my memory have already sunk into the ground.