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Sometimes the weight of one solitary word (situation) is enough to sink me under the surface, the water slowly engulfing the openings of my skull, the muddy line seamless to my skin, ghost kisses to eyelids like a death so yearned for, yet mourned as well. But it is this stone of a word (situation) on my brain that slips me down as if it were a room to hide my desires, a place to store my tears in jars with lids sealed, my heart in a viewing glass spectators watching it beat evenly and lonely, circulating the blood of creativity in infinite loops never touching beyond the idea. (situation) Aleathia Drehmer 2007