build up a story-tower, weave it into being with words and magic. hold it together with love and hope, chase it up with creation for the sake of it. scrawl across a mirror in lipstick a profession of delight; lift and assemble every piece of masonry yourself.
(feel the ache as muscles pull and develop their own power)
hang a tapestry, collect a mock-electric generator and light a candle. this is your tower; the shadows are your own stories to be told.
the collapse doesn’t happen because of faultlines, it happens because of boredom. you’re bored and pull down every last brick, lay it all at your feet. here is what’s left of your tower-empire: here you have the power, the strength, to rebuild. it’s time, now, to reimbue the masonry with love, fierce and adoring, devoted and clear.
it’s all in your mind; creating beauty is not.