Jude\'s postcard arrived this morning telling me to read the scripture for the answer, how these trying times are not over, how we can find comfort in one another, but I have no place in the religion of Hollywood. I drink and smoke and listen to Neil Young. I wear a silver chain with a heart, which was a gift to my mother, which brings me closer to last night. I found it on a clear blue day lying untouched, and now it belongs to my tears, hanging around my neck with a motive. I pass waterways, I navigate, over the isthmus and into distinct waters. I told myself I wanted to die, I wanted it so bad I went to the extreme, making myself bleed. I ignored the warning signs, the prophets singing. I was never incorporated into the house, into the tales of hard labour. I was left an atom pondering in the sky, before unopened doors, brimming with useless thoughts every time I am doped up. I get cold feet when push comes to shove, and I am godless, not interested in the television. A charming seamstress trespasses in my visions, and the irregular high goes away. My body plummets into black holes, into different kinds of waters, into freedom. I bare my soul there, quite alright for the time present.