the violent seams of Polter beam. disguised in a vanquished fury. i look up to the absence of love. a proportionate glow that flickers an empty me… and if only i could embrace, that of a tender mold, i would surely feel myself. a dedicated mechanic of melting wax. liquified within the cracks. this position alters me and i writhe in a beam. shifting seams. i’m now a gold metallic.