There, a sick little finger sat with veins and skin, on a hand that used to say so much (It doesn't exist anymore). A long time ago, you could see how it might have moved slightly, pulsed occasionally, and touched. There, underneath a couple feet of immalleable congestion, a pair of eyeballs rang with such phonetic power, that today it might give you shock (They're silent now). And, of course, a smile (that no longer holds its power) could comfort you for longer than the average mouth.

Yet, the smile, eyes, skin, and veins, and sick little finger may still be, for she who holds them is real as can be.

But surely, she is gone now, as two feet of soil is no different from two years of distance.

Out beyond any world we could conceive,
There is a being, Omnireal, Superimposed,
Stands twenty feet tall, more or less,
Decreasing and increasing at will,
To suit the needs it possesses,
The being would be incredulous to us,
The existence of this being,
Is only existent because of omnirealism,
That is,The reality is given because of,
its own discretion, under emphatic atrophy,
an ouroboros, a colloquial spiral,
Reaching into the expansiveness to the
Entire Realm,
Existence Existing,
Existing on Existence,
Setting into a dreamtown land,
Now this being,
Since reality has befallen it,
How would the midset be,
Contained,
Realized,
Conceived,
Forthwith, the makings of its identity,
Intelligence, Conciousness, Mentality, Entirety,
Assembled in an enviornment,
of its own Omniworldlyness, otherworldly,
Yet still, concrete, immalleable, seething, breathing
Unable to make dramatic change,
Until the final moment,
Where in the end, reality caves in on itself,
Becoming reborn, reincarnate, Big Bang,
Into the same rhythm, echoing,
Reverberating into negating ripples.