Dreams Cling

Blind and wading through the darkness, I’m lost; no floor, no ceiling, no up and down, no walls, no stars. Am I falling? Am I flying? Who knows? I’ve no direction, no momentum; everything is still, for there is nothing but me. No meaning to hold; no goal to seek; I’m lost.

So let the rain fall, and let winter invade—we’re all dead anyway, shambling corpses in the night desperately seeking light, desperately running from it. Mad and insane, lost in this meaningless trek—I am not here; suddenly I am not there anymore.

The night is over, and I must wake. But the dreams cling to me, and I lay motionless in my bed, haunted by things I can’t remember.

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