It collects in the high corners first never stopping so slow it’s like dust on your fingers but you’ve stopped moving you’re not dead you’ve just stopped moving and anything like it is like that it starts in the ceiling corners and then it melts the walls brown and drippy like that time you had pneumonia and they put you in the hospital for tuberculosis of the grandfather and you read Bukowski and thought about entrapment, it’s sort of like that what you coughed up but it’s closer to the feeling between when they came for the cup and it’s sort of like when you haven’t quite pulled on the string that turns on the light, you’re just hanging there just hanging just hanging just look at what’s on the walls, be amused, be satisfied with what’s on the walls, wear your clothes inside you, outside in, it’s like that but it’s purple and it’s outside and it’s times no one is scheduled for when the hell is 6:24 is anything going to come of those songs no one hears me singing to myself halloooo I’m alone. It’s like that.