It’s like I found a box and I got inside of it and it broke.
When I stepped outside of the box there were so many angles.
I revealed them; so complicated. Each angle seemed to have its own.
Inside this broken box, a complex vortex of perspective. Some people were circles and believed me. Some were squares and did not. It’s like I am stuck in this broken cardboard box with the squares surrounding , repeating their broken empty angles. They stare; I question consciously for whom it is they care and where. This revelation causes me to wonder as I transpose between the angles of this broken box. I am a circle in a circle peering out at a fox. Not seeming to end the cycle of questions regarding empty lost angles with regurgitated squares inside a broken cardboard box.