I slide down the rabbit hole on my way to a new world . A portal full of color to a new world. Leaving the old world with the old people and the old friends.

That slippery thing called The Truth.
Who’s truth you ask?
Your truth or mine?
That slippery of slippery Jester.
The one that hides in your bedside table?
The one that you delete?
The one you post?
Your feeling well hidden or the ones that you show.
The slight smile is the truth maybe?
Maybe the meaning behind your intention is the truth.
Or is it the sunshine and the blue sky?
The truth lies somewhere between a touch of a hand, an honest question with an honest intention.
Love without expectation is perhaps the truth.
With that, there is no attachment or deceit of any kind.
Its the truth that one wears whether seen or hidden hugging the
curves.
Its yours.

The air is brittle this ominous, wintry night.

The slivers of a life you used to know still haunt you, as surely as you have permitted them to be a haunt to others.

Without question, it is those memories that spur your ruminations; that cause your copious circumlocutions; which compell you to stand on this somber boulevard in front of this crumbling, but once stately manor that now is a languid presence with the solitary purpose of looming over the vast grounds.

It is obligatory that you proceed along the avenue that used to split the yards that are now overgrown and chocoblock with twisted vines, and thistles.

You pause, to gather your strength.
One deep inhailation and then you hold your breath as you grip the tarnished handle and lock leaver.

With a perfect degree of strength your thumb recalls, the mechanism is undone.

Your arm pushes forward.

The silence is disturbed by a warbling creak as the heavy door is slowly opened.

You exhale, then before you lose your nerve you quickly pass through the ingress and enter into the foyer,
which is instantly familiar in the dim, flickering light and the long, slender adumbrations effected by the gossamer encaked voltives jutting from the dusty walls.

Though it has remaned unchanged  
throughout all the time that has passed, standing in the ornate room affirms that the warmth with which you used to be recieved here has been abandoned to a frigidity.

You feel as if this room remembers you.

This is as far as I dare go with you, my friend, though I know you must continue.

I have listened to your stories, so
I know you have many rooms to search.

The closier that you seek is in a matter that is not my own.

I will depart upon rendering these words of warning:

When visiting the past,

As you daringly explore these often haralded halways,
Be careful what you leave behind.
Take caution not to lose yourself,
For a shadow lingers in the Suite Sublime.

I'll keep the lights on in this place,
I'll sit here in the dark forever if its the case,
but I know you'll be back soon,
When I call we both know its a harpoon,

The walls will dry and crack,
this is where you bring me for a panic attack,
I have felt worthless for so long,
I have lost interest in any game or song,

No I think I'll retreat back to that room to be alone,
In there my voice is nothing but calm in its tone,
I know its not the place that I wish to stay,
but time and time again the world is too **** gray,

I watch it all move and twist about,
my insides screaming, my skin crawls and I want to shout,
But the camera's shutter moves to slow,
and the world slows down to a snail's flow,

I never talked about the way I felt
except in that room, where my heart could melt,
and words can flow there like a summer's breeze,
so I regress back to that room with ease,

I'm sorry to make you read anymore,
If the windows crack I need you to shut the door,
I don't bring anyone else here,
I've lived my whole life in fear,

I need to break out and make anew,
before my youth slows to a crawl, and then it's through
If I think anymore, my brain will implode,
like a black hole, it's another episode

Inside I scream, my skin crawls, I want to shout
**Please depression, just let me out

Among black butterflies
goes a dark-haired girl
next to a white serpent
of mist.

Earth of light,
sky of earth.

She is chained to the tremor
of a never arriving rhythm;
she has a heart of silver
and a dagger in her right hand.

Where are you going, siguiriya,
with such a headless rhythm?
What moon'll gather up your pain
of whitewash and oleander?

*Earth of light,
sky of earth.

In Babylon she cries in red
In Babylon her stains of blood
And wine falls from fountains for us
In Babylon the streets are red

And Babylon she screams for more
Outside every shelter's door
And Babylon lifts her thighs
To the hot air and incense skies

Juvenile faces mixed in mud
How sweet our sorrows go
And Babylon today has wept
Tomorrow is on her feet again

And mark well, the faces in the street
The priest in passersby
And be gracious to everyone you meet
And we will love before we die