Every strong word is followed by a soft one with jagged teeth and a crooked smile. Every gentle touch is sealed in the folded fingers of a shaking palm Behind my head is the spiraling mind of a child with no escape route. If every word can be solidified with nothing but a mass of more words in dominoes, then I guess words mean nothing at all and are paradoxes of themselves. Love is just a sound the tongue makes against teeth. Hate is just a throat’s vibrations in an echoing chamber through the esophagus. The mind is just a passageway of sounds with no meaning, and we ought to use our fingers instead.