Architects with Broken Thumbs

It was nothing like I thought it would be, but what ever is? Cold porcelain full of hot water cheats the skin. Into thinking it can feel movement from dead things. Or ones that never lived.

I hear the outside drawing in. Lights are everywhere though the sun's long since gone to bed. I'm anything, but dreaming, though my eyes are closed again.

We're at our best when we are our worst. When nothing matters I can see what once did. Blank mirrors letting me see what might've been. Every word I gave up to hear them. Turn the handle on this box and the songs still plays, but the jack never pops out of it.

There's glass everywhere, but nothing to see out there. Just more walls that keep shrugging as if they don't know.

And myself, with the most uneasy feeling that they never really did.

know me.