air dry and the sun ever curious of my wandering. its time to finally go through with a promise made to you.
roots twisted and arched, pointlessly trying to make my journey more annoying than it already seemed.
the fork in the trail presented itself and I wandered out into the open path. brush was thick and high. the animal trails presented themselves.
"how do you do?", I asked the ghosts greeting.
"please."
with a wave of hands, I bowed to follow faithfully.
I stood at the end of a cavern, made from twigs and dead leaves, to a part in a play.
the crowd was quiet and expectant as I performed faithfully.
the beauty of my memories was not present. only a moment injected into time. my motive was all that I percieved-all that existed.
I carve.
one blade dulls to the sound of my framework chipping and chipping and chipping as I sit studying my wounds these wounds that I'm carving out and in-
front of me. here we are.
faithfully.
arms grow heavy and I rest next to my bike. our environment becomes very real.
its a boar with its offspring. I stand for some odd reason and stare. the young scurry and their mother, startled, jumps to face me. I glare into its eyes with a pestering curiousity. it sees nothing. how could it? I left months ago.
only the title of this production lay here, plastered now. a faithful resting place. 
R
S
roots twisted and arched, pointlessly trying to make my journey more annoying than it already seemed.
the fork in the trail presented itself and I wandered out into the open path. brush was thick and high. the animal trails presented themselves.
"how do you do?", I asked the ghosts greeting.
"please."
with a wave of hands, I bowed to follow faithfully.
I stood at the end of a cavern, made from twigs and dead leaves, to a part in a play.
the crowd was quiet and expectant as I performed faithfully.
the beauty of my memories was not present. only a moment injected into time. my motive was all that I percieved-all that existed.
I carve.
one blade dulls to the sound of my framework chipping and chipping and chipping as I sit studying my wounds these wounds that I'm carving out and in-
front of me. here we are.
faithfully.
arms grow heavy and I rest next to my bike. our environment becomes very real.
its a boar with its offspring. I stand for some odd reason and stare. the young scurry and their mother, startled, jumps to face me. I glare into its eyes with a pestering curiousity. it sees nothing. how could it? I left months ago.
S
