oh high

there's something in the middle of me, in the middle of 
me there is a large something
pushpushing against my skin and
aching against my vital organs, I 
can feel my heart strings as they are
are tuned up up up and pulled to the taut
-ness of a mandolin. the monotonous monks that 

haunt my chest take on a barely audible hum, 

angelic, the lightness of 
their voices driving into the tips of 

each of my quivering limbs like 

feathers, they are like
feathers in the sense 

that I am

covered in 

them, I am

buzzing with 

a glow of satisfaction - !

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^that is a work in progress. I've obviously got to come down from that high.