Decompression sickness. For all I've given you, you get nothing. Obviously, you are a lattice and a spine and a deconstruction of my thoughts. Go for it. Run. Take it. Palpably, you are a man on fire, and then a woman sobbing, she doesn't know how to sit or lie down. For all I give you, you give nothing back. Little boy, black background. Eyes like sad trees how sorry am I? Have I broken your heart yet? Pity me pity me pity me please decompression, money, airbag, scrapbook faster faster faster and initial. And you boast by giving me nothing. I am so worried I cannot sit down. faint, compact, crimson me up, lather me down. I am so clean you will not let me sit down! How sick/sorry/sad am I? What is my prize? I am owed. I am owed. So take me, mold me, make me, sell me, I will not complain. Let me be the hand that blots the blood.