Far from cities, streets or cars

In a dark and silent mood

Roger sees a thousand stars

Exit suddenly a wood;

Fireflies dance before his eyes

Light and bright like magic sparks:

You can see that Roger cries.

The voices in my head talk over each other, a multitude of conversations all happening at once. I press the palms of my dirty hands to my temples, willing them to shut up, but to no avail.

Little iridescent beetles scuttle over my feet and through the …