I wear a cross. Not two sticks soldered to one another and supposedly emboldened with a faux-mystic hope.

Nay.

I wear a cross. Slanted to the side and etched into the sands of an island I'll never see. I cannot see past the shroud that bears mine own face.

Nay.

Not mine.

For I wear a cross, not the other way around. X marks the spot all right. I just need to keep digging.

I just need to... I can't.

Or maybe won't. The two aren't mutually exclusive.

But this cross, and all the treasure it may lead to, hangs like a millstone around my neck. Or itself upon my back.

Who wears who?

'Tis worth exploring.

The belt or the beholder? Explore indeed.

Eyes. Sight. Vision.

I wear a cross...

"Oink oink oink ooiink oink Ooiinnk Ooiinnk oink Oink ooink oink oink ooink oink ooink oink oooiiinnnkk. Oin'k oink oink oooiinnkk ooink oink oink ooiink oink ooiinnk oink."


You wear me, sitting atop you while you sleep.

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