I don’t know what I’m smelling anymore.
I smell wood. There is no wood. Just air. It makes me sick.
I wish there was wood. Then I wouldn’t feel so lonely.

I smell leaves.
They’re new. Except they’re not. They’re dead. They’ve been dead. They crunch under my feet as I walk.
Crunch crunch. Like chips.
I wish i had chips.

Walking is dumb. Flying is better.
I try and fly. I scrape my knee. It hurts. I watch the blood run down my leg.
I don’t feel it. It’s just there.

I hear voices.

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