Who are we, catching all our old dreams in burnt nets, fishing for all the little lost fragments of ourselves? Why do we keep searching for something that hides its mottled head from us? We're all out for one thing, really. Just to find it, hold it once. Examine it like an amoeba under a microscope, prodding and questioning. Already we know what it is: we've seen it in flashes and distorted glimpses, snatches of moments, even through all its veils and subtle camouflage… no matter. We want to make it ours. Catch it. Pin it down and lock it away from the rest of the world, somewhere secret in our ashen hearts. Never escape. Hold on to it until it dies and disappears with us.

And here I stand, on the edge, looking over into the chasm – waiting for that gentle nudge, that little touch that will throw me off and into the abyss, the one place from which there is no return. There's no doorway, no stairway. Not inside. Locks and keys and hallways, but no way out. And I'm breaking all the locks, wrapping myself around the rules, bending and burning until the edge creeps forward and extends tendrils that touch my toes.

I'll stand and wait. Bind my eyes – can't see the world anyway, not past the blackness inside. Tie my hands – fingers only ever dipping darkness and dripping dreams that are taken away by all the silent screams. And it drags me down, where I can't reach my nets, don't hold the keys, no unlocking here, no hiding now. I'll wander, though. I'll keeping searching.

Beauty is all there is. Bitter beauty, battered beauty – torn, even. But that's what holds me here, struggling through the voiceless crowds, all the blankly smiling faces. Sometimes there's a way through, as long as you're not real. Mist can weave through all the cold and hardened stars, so melt the world as you step through it with burning soles, a blazing spirit. Why waste all the little formalities, the idiot little habits, when you could simply be there and have done it. Twist the clocks so they tick backwards – no-one will notice anyhow, time will keep on running with our lives stuffed in his sack, his gleeful little hands cheating fate and dealing destiny doom's hand.

Hold on. I'll give it all up, cut the threads, the keys to that last lock, my nets all scattered ashes trailing behind. Open up the dark chest of wonders, here inside his rhythmic beats, his heart as singed as mine. And there it's been, all along, those scattered pieces of myself, shatter-dreams and mirrored things.

Usher it together into a pile of ashes – once-words. Now that you've found me, you're locked away inside his heart, over the edge and there's no way out. You gave up all your dreams in search of meaning, in pursuit of promises and wild wonderings, looking for yourself. Now that you're here… Who are you?