She set a dove in my chest, and I let it's wings spread. Then they folded the jacket around my ribs. I felt the fluttering beneath the cloth.. My heart was excitable. I was flying in my skin. It was all too brief I fear. It was suffocated so early on.

I'm told I have agendas, that I have plots. Oh look at me, hiding behind ambitions with a vicious intent but what ever could it be? I'm tired. My soul feels old. There are feathers and bone left in my blood of a thing stuffed there I never knew I wanted, and regret I had.

Oh I have an agenda. I want you to want yourself. I want your mind's eye to expand a little more. I want the little seams in your surrounding box to be that much more apparent. I want you to look at colors and emotions and know they are not dependent on one person, gender or race. I want you to be artists and writers and humans.

I undid the jacket and I'm cradling what's left of the bone. The fine powder. I can feel myself leaking out in the hills. My world is on fire and I'm still cold. I'm old..I'm tired.... I need to rest.