Doing surgery on your mind is like doing surgery on the person who is doing surgery on your brain.
In the aftermath, we will feel fuzzy, dizzy, lazy, jaded.
Bird’s twittered melodies float into brain waves.
Exhausted, they say, my child, you are. We’ll keep peeping, holding the main communications structures in the air.
Your brain is tired. Let it rest. On my blue-red-colored chest, you may lay your breast. Inhale, exhale as the melody is sung. For now and forever they’ll keep piping through the times.
When you remember, you’ll forget that once you were seeking for the end.