rogziel

When I woke up this morning I had the remnants of a very bizarre dream running through my head. Before I was even quite awake I picked up a pen and started writing. There is no punctuation or structure to the words, this is just a steady stream that poured from my subconscious this morning.

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raw embers crack against the pavement as it blurs a color simple that never checks the clock only this time its different and there are no changes that relate to the image in my mind and the phantom on my doorstep I cant explain the damage and the infinite spiral that sleeps and winds into imagination and a reflection of quicksilver dreams and the red tides of love picture windows and concrete slabs press upon the being and become the foundation of my metamorphosis there is a change beginning like life in the throes of an accelerated state of evolution there is nothing we can become that we are not already are drunken laughter from the bar in limbo and the cacophony of angels ringing endlessly in hell there is no more to say but only left to cut away there is a stagnation of spirit and a pretty blonde walking my way it is only the moment connected by liquid emotion and experience there is only the intoxication of oblivion and the necessity of delusion no act of faith or leap of depravity that can condition the soul of hold back the rage of lifetimes no one stirs the drink its always shaken we know its name but forget its purpose there is nothing left for us to know and do and it is within our misery that we find the strength to rise again and walk those familiar paths we know so well.