We all go untouched, is a lie. We think in heavy thoughts, is a lie, is a bed, is a thing we all need in the heat. Somewhere the centuries are building up like a brothel queue. No better time to tilt your head back. We all know how, is a lie. The bed, like a gorge, is a lie. I want to say it’s me, where you are, what you’re suffering with your hands, is too.