I ingest the flame and let smoke roll out behind my eyes.
Trembles across my body, set and setting is what they say must be right.
However, being right all the time is exhausting, for there are instances in which I rather dine on sorrow of falsehood from my own mind than celebrate the corectness of my assumptions that carve the implications of my experiences on my skin like a sculptor carves the images in marble.
And like them, mine can never really be removed, either. Experience is like amputation, once you've done it, you can't really ever go back to how things were, even if you replace the limb lost. Things always change, and I must change with them, for better or for worse.