There is a centre, and it has to hold,

There is a wave coming in.

What if the wave washes over me?

What will become of my superpose, then?

‘Cause I can no longer hold, the strings of truth.

The truth, does it have a centre?

Or does the lava melt them away?

Them, the slender, congruous ellipses, that hold my existence still.

On them, I can change my worlds, while being alive in just one,

I can be this and I can be that,

I can be there, if Here they set fire to my lines.

Does my truth give me two wings or does it clip them to the sky?

What if I could swim entire seas,

What if I could reach the very core?

But what if the core too is melting away,

‘Cause truth, can no longer hold?

I need to live double, on a single elliptical battle.

I wish I could slip through time,

I wish I could multiply,

I wish I could jump down a hole,

I wish they could no longer roar,

I wish I could watch this

From a distance, somewhere far away,

Where the skin does not cut, burn, drown or destroy,

Where Time freezes right away.

Will these lines guide me, will these particles survive, so that I reach my superpose?

So that I live through centre and truth galore,

So that I can slip through my rabbit-hole,

To reach my space to fly,

In my multi-versal sky?