The waves slash my brain, a knife, 

Razors sharpened by one’s wit and lost only when the soul is gone.

I searched through the forest yet no soul formed

A timeless dream lost between the dreamer and the world, the you and I, The we and them

We forget that our primary purpose is to dream.

Dream of paint splattered on a child’s face, confused with the sudden blind rage filled with so much emotion that it creates a seam, a tear,

It grows and grows and begins to rip, The dream flipping upside down the sky under me,

dark as can be. 

The sky then splits and from this a great hand appears guiding the land into a spiral ending at the face of another,

Paint replaced with blood and confusion with horror, the sound splitting the ground. Shaking the foundations of the dream,

Cracking the land into a chasm that turns into a mouth of which have no teeth only tongues producing words,




a vestige of the old tradition,

a good for nothing perpetrator.