Last night I had a dream that I woke up at two in the afternoon, and I was late for work. I was so flustered because I am never late for work, I never call in sick, and I feel like the only think I am good for is being dependable. I need to stop fettering with the stars. They plague me so, they leave me deftly. I find a mist to wander in, I find a wolf to dance with. I died that night and you never looked for me. But again with this soundless whimpering, this finicky plow of determined existence. And I cave at the edge of my thoughts, the edge of my mind. I feel the presence of evil as it rays its lovely etching across my understanding. Have I escaped? Or am I stuck in the burrows of haphazard emotions? Had it been absolved, I would be free. Had it been a relic in times fragrance, a smear in the dimension's opening. Had I never known the other side for what it really was, I would still be looping about in my own world. But no, exposition at it's greatest, in the thicket of nonsense, in the layers of treason and remorse, and tall tail signs of pigmented truth. I foretell the eyes that see me, in a bliss of wandering soughs that make of me my soul. Ah, but it would never had it ever.
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