You were born to tell a story.

When I wake up, I start to play the game I was warned about in my dreams.

Afterimages glaze over my eyelids like under-developed photos of the streetlights last night, but today it’s the sunset framed by chemtrails and the crickets don’t console me anymore as hard as they try and as the world glows pink no one knows what I think in a blink everything goes dark and the view turns into stark outlines of vague buildings and trees and the sky is transformed into a sea of birds singing their last songs of tonight and I try to set the chemtrails on fire. My head is a whirlwind of unfulfilled desires and secret wishes to become something less tethered.

Some people go free like grandfather clocks that stop ticking, finally.

I think I’ll stay here for a while but that doesn’t mean I don’t want out; staring into the void until the world shifts to pulsing patterns is easier than listening to the messages that are trying to walk out of the posts on the street.

MAYBE I missed the biggest part but I simply feel that there’s something else there, mostly I stare to rip through the fabric of what I’m seeing to glean a deeper meaning but it’s still just silhouettes of trees and I’m still here, trying to crack mysteries like I crack my knuckles, and sometimes there’s nothing to be found out.

If you’re one that needs rules I suggest you don’t read this book.

We suggest you take a deeper look.

I considered catching my death today but that seemed too easy, no reason really and it made me feel so silly, to think I want to die when I haven’t even turned twenty-five and there are eighty-year-olds that still cry for their mothers– I’m just not sure whether another day will make the oppression dissipate– why do we follow stoplights when there’s the gas pedal to press that will make us fly farther than we’ve bothered to test?

I digress I just want to make it plain that we have choices to make whether or not there’s skyrocket stakes, sometimes the painful thought takes the cake before the one that gives us meaning comes clean to our psyche.

FRIENDS there’s more out there to see!

Or at least that’s what I’ve told myself so I don’t believe that I am going to live the rest of my life for the end purpose of turning to dust– the motes we breathe used to mean something to someone and that’s what terrifies me most– the ghosts of our past and present still linger with us and they’re not doing anything else but haunt us for a purpose we don’t KNOW where we go but I’m still willing to push the envelope and uncover the burning-fire-ashen mystery of our final destination.

Categories: book

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