On the island I wake up on when I doze off, the air is heavy but the wind blows soft. There are no stairs to heaven as my glow is a little off. Boxed inside a spherical space. Death races to extinguish the life of brain cells in a place where the sound is swift of crashing waves. Where I can't tell Hell from passing days. The moon light burns my skin. Soon to fight my own confusion. In the illusion around me that is mostly sand and water and I feel something on the peak that demands an offer. So I'm scrambling on the island like I'm running out of time and I'm rambling in my mind telling myself that I am fine. Even if it's a lie.