what dare destroy these stepping stone
perfectly mingling tangents
of space, 
the molding paste of this brain,
that i'm somehow trying to tack on the page.
but i'm just stalling with grace
and replacing the elements
with nerve-endings,
sentiments that fall thin-
upon further inspection.
so you can cripple me
but i'm nearly done with caring,
for the daring flight
of living in my dreams.