a tight rope of hope has bound my hands, i open my eyes, it seems like the ceiling is spinning fast, i’m not drunk i laugh, there is a yellow clock i’ve stopped and hung on the wall, outside i don’t know i don’t count anymore, i just walk and walk often eyes closed, i wait for the white scarf to blind me again and then, maybe i’ll choose to open them. i’ve finished to read all the words i’ve scribbled on my ramparts with the black paints i was given, i’m going to need to erase them and start all over again, i like pointless tasks now, i like being away cause i don’t need to be anywhere, all green and quiet while i watched worlds collapse, a few seconds after we were everywhere i haven’t been that nothing for ages.

a tight rope of hope has bound my hands and half the sky is pouring in, i know i could use a few clouds as blankets but i’ll wait and maybe use myself as a bait instead. it’s odd not to move for a long time, i’m a little off too now, i’ll be looking for the center sometimes later, i have to find the extremities first, it helps not falling in one side or the other. the night was coming so i lit a candle for another step, it’s a bit like walking on water, except i’m not walking and this is my head, inside out and creeping to the end with a tight rope of hope binding my hands, i’m sort of praying that i’ll fall asleep.

soundtrack : her space holiday – something to do with my hands