under raze a black box of heat is resting on my chest, and my face is clammy with sweat, and i should have been sleeping hours ago but the heat has kept me here, a ceaseless siren song that soothes all the places that sting while opening new hurts to walk through like torn screen doors swinging in a breeze that hasn't made up its mind what it wants to be. and if i could feel that breeze on my face, the sweat would cool and my head would clear, but i think i'd miss the clutter. 130501 what's it to you? who go blather from