A burst of blinding light like imprisoned fireflies in a tiny box, then a dither into nothing. A blankness. A bleakness. An obscurity.

Jackhammer to a steel beam, a cacophony of sounds, and a screech that rattles the prefrontal cortex and nanomizes thoughts. A migraine.

What it’s worth is not worth what it is. Heaving, gasping for air in a place with the cleanest, most pristine wind. Dehydration in the freshest of water. Distortions. Incapacitate.

Dreams become feathers. Material, but light and weightless. In another world, perhaps, we can feel the weight of dreams. But I’m here in a world I don’t belong. An anomaly. An alien. A juxtaposition between a human and a person. An unspectacularly ephemeral being.

Trees. Finding the upper limit of the sky, but will never make it before something burns them down. Deforested. Sheared by the human intervention.