You Are A Dream; I Hope I

The Sheets Grow Heavy As A Lecher's Kiss.

I Am Afraid. I Am Not Solid, But Hollow. I Feel Behind My Eyes A Numb, Paralyzed Cavern, A Pit Of Hell, A Mimicking Nothingness.

I Have A Violence In Me That Is Hot As Death-blood.

I Wondered What I Thought I Was Burying.

And If You Have No Past Or Future Which, After All, Is All That The Present Is Made Of, Why Then You May As Well Dispose Of The Empty Shell Of Present And Commit Suicide.