I can't remember how long I slept. Am I awake now?
If you fall asleep, you can forget your body even more.
Deeper, I can forget that I still have bones, blood vessels and flesh to take into account.
No one can find me. In this small, closed cell, I designed myself to live in the master of Dostoyevsky - a me who has no one to ask. I'm completely separated from the world.
Nobody knows I'm here -- I don't think in this basement. I just-- just stay here and let the oxygen in my head run out of it, and I can't even think about the pain. Be a dark prisoner and surrender. Only the bed and the lonely suitcase entered my eyes.
In the dark, I don't exist, only a moment of consciousness.
In silence, Our breasts are filled with rage and dumbness. Tchaikovsky in the headset is ringing, but I hear only a faint cry for help in a pulse.
I often remembered the summer on that hillside, and I caught the dragonflies and carried them with a string, and it flew anywhere I wanted them to go. Two days later, it died. I buried it in a matchbox. The box is thin, and it's just the size of its light body. I walked on the slopes for a long time, digging a hole on the cliff of the sun, burying it.
Think it's dead and can take off again by the cliff.
Sometimes you go up to the ground and look at everything. Open your arms and let the light stab every inch of my dying skin. And so I die -- the sun shines on me, and I hear the sound of a broken skin, cracking, cracking, spreading a little bit, and the heat waves crushing the dead ash. I know I'm losing my pain. Shoulders, arms, waists, legs, ankles, all grudging in light, and their contours soar into my mind.
The illusions about my body are getting brighter and my body's details are getting clearer. In the brief moments of air, their faces were turned up in a warm stream deep in their chests, convulsing on my head in the light of a big comet -- - The thick tail flashed with a thick silver glow, swiped my weak nerves and hit me in the eye with a heavy blow.
But it's always that short time, and the powerful hand in the depths of my head grabs me, and I'm being sucked back into a black box below the surface.
The next floor, the next floor, is my world.
This is the last time. Time is running out in the dark. And We were dazzled in the dark chamber, and opened our mouths in prayer, and yearned for a light, and for a comet again.
My body has become ash, and it will melt into the night, and it will be recited in light.
Close your eyes again, in the dark, I see myself lying in that little matchbox.