Creatures called "sores" hover at lightning speed across the grey earth, hence, ere is the apocalypse's eve.
Just as it always is, and the future attains enlightened poisoning which eats slowly at its being and existence.

Feelings, misplaced
Confidence, misplaced
Balance, misplaced
Senses, scattered and blown by opaque wind into small tornadoes which settle and hide in the corners and crannies of my skull

The fascinate-opal is shining above the impossible-springs where blue vegetation is next to molten rainbow cascading through, over, under, and beside digital holograms of people.
Illusory picnic in the chapel-a hollowed sheet of milk