he is tired, exhausted. i change his name. he grows roots from his palms, he kneels and buries his wrists into the ground. from his ears, flowers, white to pink with deep blue stems. it breaks him. you can smell years of rooms with broken bottles and stubbed out cigarettes. you mourn for him and he cries, i am still so tired, so tired. and rocks split beneath him and milk pours out of his mouth. the mud turns to sand and she cannot escape. he tries, but she cannot escape. she tries and he cannot stop weeping. we all try and we feel exhausted. she opens her mouth and we find petals falling from our fingers.