dark dreams of death and stabbings. pushings out of windows. one time down in front of a train the sleeper fell and yet climbed back to be stabbed stabbed stabbed death not by crushing but by slicings deeply...not good these dreams. not good.
nothing appears to be...no, nothing is sacred to me. no person no thing. once cut adrift theyre dead. gone as if they never were...this i have tasted time and again. but. how to counter that balance. how to counter against the tears and caring? tell me how to detail and clarify that. how to justify the anger.
i simply do. not care. have drifted round and round for so long now. darting in and out of whats deemed normal that i have become a background noise
so. this is why i write. to leave some thing. a mark a something there to testify i was i was i truly was though certainly of no consequence
for dreams fade quickly. recollections dull. and yet there is a lingering dream of sorts of what was once a capsule containing a world. in truth...such things are gone. can not be grasped no comfort given the thinking of those happier times...no...no no comfort there for sure
i wish i had the courage to step and wreak the havoc that I feel so wrapped around my heart to strike with vengeance and disturb the pond so deeply so radically that thered be a dent made never theyd forget
but, no...this will not be for that dream must be kept corraled concealed so as not to frighten me or any others...yes, this never will be seen but one day one day perhaps therell be a snap a crack a bending shatter breaking so dramatic that the world will weep in wonder and in fear...perhaps, perhaps.