palisade raze three pixelated friends smile and wave from the scuffed glass that keeps them flat and happy. you jab at a weeping silver circle and watch them disappear. stare into the red wreckage of your face. play connect_the_dots with sun spots. carve out unnamed constellations. can't tell the hour from the gold arms of a nightstand drawer. laughter sails up the stairs and vaults into your open mouth. this is the sound of giving_up. "every day," you say. every day is a wall on wheels — a moving barrier that bullies you into wishing you were anywhere but here. 250131 what's it to you? who go blather from