Block. Brick. Block.
Where will it go? Where does this flow?
Clock. Tick. Clock.
When it all happens too much, all at once.
To sit and to watch the world go by, and to never truly know why.
Knock. Kick. Knock.
I feel a pull.
The smile, the knife, the heart.
The world awaits – arms wide open; as will I, ever broken.
A sound, a voice, three voices, knock.