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Wasted on a pair of young limbs, the air inside the other me – that wears the face of life – was choking when the other me – that wears the face of death – sprung forth to life: a sphinx always waiting, calculating the right moment to pounce at my life lines. I heard your voice from somewhere so far – the voice of me wearing the mask of life – so far, it felt like you were the foam and I was the dead sea floating backwards. You were the land while I the water and so I drowned you in me. Every now and then, you swim back to the surface; long lost friends and lovers I drowned to my shores long ago littered on this land like lifeless sea sponges. Sometimes I feel you there deep down, a crackle of hollow sound in comparison to the howling raven I feed your heart strings to. But don’t you know that hollow as it might, I do speak? That I live nonetheless?  The crackle of my bones grows louder too sometimes. So when the day comes, these cracked up bones will be the tool I use to cut the voice of the raven in you and put it to sleep once and for all. So you would break your back just to kill the raven? Henceforth if both of us can’t exist, neither shall one.