Flipping through channels to feel connections and losses that could maybe be prevented, but we won’t do anything about it.
Building mountains from the mud that settle back into the sludge. Grasping desperately at straws that were never there when I’d begun.
Flipping through channels to feel connections and losses: empty and happy, though in the background is madness. With the volume up so high, your lips make shapes but no vibrations. In the snow and the static, we'll lose all inspiration.
Form a ball from all the snow for it to melt before I throw it. Search my brain for all the words, except dead air is all you heard.