These broken words and worlds are mirrors of broken selves that we have carried around like those old coats that, ragged and torn, serve no other purpose than to give us something reassuring to cling to and in being or becoming so accustomed to bearing these burdens as second-skins and masquerades or shades upon a light, an innocence and compassion that has long sheltered cold and alone beneath them, we have come to mistake this fabric of negativity and sorrow as in some sense being our own. These are the patterned words and sentences of abject self-deprecation and sharp-barbed crystalline fear that we have each and all clung to as though life rafts of intelligibility in the storms that our lives have faced; these are the splintered, shattered rungs of a ladder we aspire by reflex or instinct to build (and climb) out of this darkness and, simultaneously, the cold iron bars of a prison we construct around ourselves with every repetition as metastasis of these engraved neurocortical pathways.
Daedelus Kite 