I spill ink and watch it fill in the cracks inside me looping around and around in my mind and watch as the lines carve themselves into circles within circles that fill themselves with all the insane useless information that takes up so much space within my brain because my life is a series of circles in circles of everything happening at once as everything that I know bleeds into everything else and I can’t be sure whether this feels like being born because I can’t remember birth but I don’t know if this feels like dying because I’ve never died before so all I can do is watch as the circles within circles become a bullseye and in the middle is me.