i want to be surrounded by mounds of books
they'd reach the clouds
maybe i could too, with their help

they'd give me every step i need to know what is truly at the top
once i reach it, there will be so much knowledge which seeps through my fingers
and i meet man here, too
he stares at me
his hair is blonde and curly
his eyes are azure like the sky above us
he is me
i am him
i must tell him
i must speak this from atop the peak
to show my prowess among the world
but he won't let me

i've come too far, there is no way down
my eyes peer at the gaping abyss below
the crags stick out, the pages flapping in the wind
the crinkles of the paper crackle like thunder
these floating messages, these heinous thoughts
i must relinquish them upon the pages,
slice
them
apart

limb
from
bloody
limb

there is only room for one at the top
he goes tumbling off the edge
he is old and bitter anyways

he is not me
not yet
perhaps not ever,
because it is i who tear the pages as i go down
their words are now my words
and my words will become theirs

the cycle repeats and repeats
loops and loops
everything which has ever been said or will ever be said
will be upon the top of this mountain
but i will never climb it again
the ripped pages may look like snow but believe me
they're much much colder