A circular world and feet that curve.

We have claws. No, not hands, not feet. Claws, like the arms of a goddess pouring out of her torso, out of her legs, out of her feet, out of her mind; claws that want to hold on to something. Curved feet help achieve that. It straightens this circular world.

We hold on for dear life and go about every day wondering if gravity will give up on us and let us fall again. Ah the fear! We are people of an afraid world, running, lying, fooling ourselves and our neighbours of what we truly are. Don't you snort now, you know it better than I do.

God is nothing more than a heroic representation of our cowardice. Glorify everything that we will never be capable of and pray for it. Set rules for permanancy and mundanity. No one will notice, will they?

You thought I would not notice too. But it was quite hard to escape how you threw all your arms out for me, golden ring on a fishing hook. I took it. Then you caught on, your palms glued onto mine with the promise of tomorrow. But here I am, in tomorrow and the couch is still cold. Did the circular world straighten?

Of course, what are those wings for anyway?