Relentless wanders,
and restless nights—
I call my subconscious
for a chat,
but that dummy never arrived,
only left
fragmented clues
in my dreams.
When I wake up,
my consciousness
sweeps me clean.
Label me greedy mean
for getting dreams—
that’s a story
seldom seen.
I finally get
how an immortal feels.
— Asher Graves
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 7:40 AM UTC
Relentless wanders,
and restless nights—
I call my subconscious
for a chat,
but that dummy never arrived,
only left
fragmented clues
in my dreams.
When I wake up,
my consciousness
sweeps me clean.
Label me greedy mean
for getting dreams—
that’s a story
seldom seen.
I finally get
how an immortal feels.
— Asher Graves
Sometimes I wonder if everything I write is just the same old thing.
Then a thought echoes through the corridors of memory, and the council of personas hears a familiar renditionone that questions the authenticity of everything.
It panics my fragile mind.
But like an antacid, the unease dissolves.
A quiet ahh.
Relief follows when I realize that every rendition adds a personal touch to what never truly changes.
And that
that must be how an immortal feels.
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