There was a reason, I swear there was, and if I could home in, identify, burn through and achieve some measure of success, I'd be there, find there, land there and understand, finally understand, or at least that's what the allure of fiction has me believing. If there was one way through, I'd find it and make it my own, at least, that's what I'd say had I known any less. If there was something I could say to make this web of lies into a reality, I'd string it, spooled, spalled, fragmenting across fabrics I wish I could feel, never too soft yet gone too long, names, they were, and will be, reinvented
