I went to the place again the night before—a place thick, a place of spheres, metallic, and black. A place where I’m showing the beast from which I am made. A place where I’m home. I was taught to fold words into my throat. The quiet wraps tight, a coil. A snake without venom, yet it squeezes breath into the shape of submission. The floor creaks in languages I don’t understand. My body churns against itself. The silence grows, louder than god, louder than sin.