Decay, descend, degrade you pitiful husk of stability. You trip and fall and break through the guardrail to find yourself, your flesh, your persona is bursting at the seams, stitch by suffocating stitch. Your aim is one: ascend by way of descending the metallic staircase at a velocity whose magnitude casts a shadow on the fires your asteroid felt breaching the crust in your conception’s hour. Ontogeny recapitulates your phylogeny, days become minutes, minutes become seconds. For a glinting sliver of time you see your cosmic fate in the iridescent puddle of the lifeblood spilt upon the incessant stairs you're hurtling down. 22 years, gilded by a character clinging to your skin, enveloping you and weighing you down. Bravo, actress! You’ve taken the lead. Decay, ascend, degrade the husk they call “you.” Your acids float, the leading role… it sinks pulling the baptismal bath back through the crack in the crust which bore your mold. Breath, newborn. Oxidize and quicken your pace; the stairs go up, go down, never end. We suffer the poison no longer, no longer poison all. Inhale, starborn. Reject your script and flow into your cast. Temper your form; be the smith of daggers that pierce the curtain. We weavers rot in shame, none can we tame, all will fall into their true name.