These moments without sound or vision, these minimal moments.
When shifting colours move through sensory sleep, we creep, awake and aware.
A curse so easily cast through stature and gesture, through logic, throughout every phase of reflection, regression, rejection.
Spin the wheel, crash down again, spin the wheel, crash down again.
Tagged and bagged in the cocoon of denial.
I know I'm not alone, yet I assume I am to decide.
When I hold my voice communication ends.
Tending to point at the most obvious as the source that conceives all hope and fear.
Spin the wheel, crash down again, spin the wheel, crash down again.
Trapped and wrapped in the cocoon of denial.
