I know you told me; your eyes are ice and mine are blind; you said open your mouth and change the world, change the skies; open your mouth and sing; fly; I dare you; I bet you’re scared; and was I sacred is the question I ask myself every time the curtain closes and the stagehands become the audience and the director disappears and the blindfold refuses to stay because it knows I hate what I do and it loves me because I saved it when the world refused, so it leaves my eyes and ties itself around my soul so I won’t fall to pieces too fast and give myself a headache because insanity is like ice cream and failure is like brain freeze except harder to get rid of even if you have someone to laugh over it with you, which is a silly thought because people laugh with you while you’re having brain freeze but only after you’ve survived failure and I’m not scared to fly; heights stopped scaring me after I realized I had been falling all along and when I hit the ground, the people I raised up over my sight and helped to stand would turn their backs to the crater in the middle of nothing and walk way with ice in their heads but my blindness wouldn’t let me see it or the feel the impact; there, it would return to the generous hands that tied it over my eyes and then, I would finally see.