Just dead, barren walls. Nobody's listening.

the difference has blurred	stranger with no intentions	The terrifying opaqueness of a pristine blue winter sky	airliners that have gone supersonic and survived
be silent my bird, you tear me apart	The ghosts of those words hung over us like clouds	A diversion from death's protocol	Prediction market
A Small Scrap Near the End of Your Story	Waiting for the number 48 bus, holding her breath	War is a game played by old men with other people's sons	Jean Charles de Menezes
Benediction	Barren	I love you	cake