Enormous skies slip from your thoughts into my own, like a huge riddle or a mass that invades my brain and lifts me off the ground. Sir, where are your thoughts taking me? It's like you're degrading my reflections or sending them to exile, punishing me for having allowed my imagination to swim, and you preferred to rather make me soar, in your everything, and my nowhere. Happy?I don't even recognize the colors in you, they breathe into me like a rainbow, except that I can't breathe; can a rainbow choke you into a coma? I'm not making sense. Shock me awake, please.
The upper I fly, the more depressing it gets; that doesn't happen, are we from opposite worlds?
Or maybe I'm deflecting.
I'm not making sense. I'm not making sense.
Sir, are you there?
