They glint behind my eyes. Twist knots inside my hair. Pout in my lips, then bite those same lips with my teeth. Hover inside my fingers, just as my fingers hover above the keyboard, suspended, twitching. My heart pounds them out in rhythms. They crackle in the static electricity surrounding me, and shock me when I move recklessly against and through them. Swirl and fuse around my wounds, reforming me. Bring light inside when my eyes close, and form the shadows on the corners of vision when they open. Move through me wholly at once, and segmented into threads and components. Batter intangible fists against the ramparts. Howl like banshees in the front of my consciousness and whisper echos in the hollow spaces.
Make it to the keyboard? No.
"There's always a layer of artifice about you."