Everyone Loves The Dream But I Kill

I Want Something Else. I'm Not Even Sure What To Call It Anymore Except I Know It Feels Roomy And It's Drenched In Sunlight And It's Weightless And I Know It's Not Cheap. Probably Not Even Real

Youth Always Tries To Fill The Void, An Old Man Learns To Live With It.

The Thread Has Snapped. No Sound Even To Mark The Breaking Let Alone The Fall. That Long Anticipated Disintegration, When The Darkest Angel Of All, The Horror Beyond All Horrors, Sits At Last Upon My Chest, Permanently Enfolding Me In Its Great Covering Wings, Black As Ink, Veined In Bees' Purple. A Creature Without A Voice. A Voice Without A Name. As Immortal As My Life. Come Here At Long Last To Summon The Wind.

It Is Hungry, It It Immortal. Worse, It Knows Nothing Of Whim.

Through All The Windows I Only See Infinity.