The sky offers me value, a sense of worth, a shroud to cover all the secrets that can never be told. The old thoughts, the familiar ones, appear like petals that soften the earth, give a fragrance that draws me into the glory of falling.  The landing is all barbs and voices tinged with rage.  The ground reminds me of the failings of my flesh, the rot of my mind.  It exposes my dying eyes to spikes thrown like lightning from the sun and flays my hope of becoming.  My breath is heavy and putrid in my mouth.  I balance on breaking feet and knees that hold the weight of being nothing. I swallow my words like wine, desperate for euphoria and meaning.  Desperate to be anyone but me.