How soft that world felt
It was something very different
No meandering in darkness
Just walking among the sunlight

But it was only temporary
It was never to last
And with my heavy eyes
I stared at a sun

Inside the skull, of the forgotten oak

Do I sit calmingly, and listen to its ghosts

For they talk, of most wonderful tales

And the winter winds, construct the tone

I constructed a piano, out of dead leaves and pine needles

Frail it was, pitiful it looked

But I played it without shame, as most as I could

To create sounds, to my desolate landscape

And for a moment

Break away, the chains of the lonely sin

The rains is falling harder

And it is become acidic

Now my skin is just matter

Disappearing away, becoming thin

I am the messenger of exhuastive sighs, the wondering bard of the tooling mind

Closely I thread my skin, into the sanity of a self that never has pulsed electric movements

I am the ghost of a present, that was never real

Only a past, wearing a suit of terrocata

Time is mere dreams, that rewind and loop consistently

Like waves to a beach, endless it becomes

It is a tool we use, to make sense of this chaos

This space we call life, in all its whims and terrors

We progress to a future always unsure, never knowing if the past is really past

Like a stone in focus, sitting on the edge of a riverbank

The water goes on, and yet you seem to stay

As if time has left you, out of the stream of linear dreams

So you dream those looping dreams, for it must be the way we are

Maybe this is the desire, to not have those dreams any more

Or if they were ever dreams, just sins that became something real

We attack the tender hearted, and pretend we hold their values like our own

The honesty is, we like to pretend we are good people, and wear that mask to judge

We are not a generous, commpasionate society

We are not this glistening humanity

We are a dark primordial sludge, that still values our reptilian hedonistic desires

Over what is right

That is always how it has been