passed the doorway stabbed burnt scales or burnt shells, condensed and defiant and free. i gambled silence with emptiness but found them asleep and busy. where im alone, the ceiling-high closet door mirrors marked black curved lines on my face. intently marked, to be frank, the lines weren't lectures. the lines were suggestions. the lines werent even lines. the lines were traces of my unnerved disposition, annoyed and disappointed, like the shape of my brows. 'steady,' id whisper, 'it wont be too long.' i grimaced anyway. im sad to say i wont change a thing. dirty birds were calling for me.