It's always been about danger. You look around and the void doesn't scare you. How could it scare you when every inch of your being, from the hand your mother was the first to touch, to the bones you've repeatedly broken, are filled with nothingness? A complete, unvarnished emptiness. So you look out, not for yourself or any of life's discrepancies ready to tear you to shred. You just look out for everything else, all the meaningless statements we all get to witness from afar. On top of a building, after a day that consumed you a bit too much, for a bit too long. Or on top of a cliff, when the countryside air you're supposed to enjoy, isn't even enough to allow you to breath. What do you do then? When your lungs are empty, what should you scream? What is there to say to a void who won't listen? Well, maybe there shouldn't be any words! Maybe, they completed their purpose. What is the meaning of having a plethora of them, when no one is standing on the receiving end? So, when you're done listening, to the anger making your fists vibrate, or to the ineffable fear inhabitating your heart, you leave place for place itself. Our bodies, intangible structures that no two persons could describe in a similar manner. These perfectly broken silhouettes, forever filling up the void with space. Coming from a few twirls or some head shaking. How can you get shuttered when you're insatiable? When every little part of your being and imagination that you let hatred consume, is constantly reinventing itself? Dancing on a precipice. Ceasing the world by a faded sight while leaving for all to see an imperfect posture, in eternal movement.