I slide. I slide. I attempt to glide. This transparent tar won't let me gain momentum. No trees to climb up & jump off. 7808 nights have I tried. I start running at the white sunset. As fast as I can. Til the white sunrise. I rest on the floor wondering what has gone wrong. I hear birds chirp, but I cannot see them. The heat dries me. My piece of sky does always seem white. I ignore if such sight fits into what life is like. I feel muddy. The world wobbles. I dream about twisting food. I should be able to sense the bed of twigs I can smell. I at times think worst. I call my own name. I must be mute to have never heard nothing. I at times think right. I dream up green skies. I think up purple tar. I badly fear some cracking. My cozy universe. I endlessly slide, only attempting to glide.