If I were to act upon my feelings sometimes I would probably be hanging from the ceiling about to pounce off of my shadow onto my reflection crashing Through the Mirror to the sound waves and High Tides the abnormality of morphic reality beckoning the Moon to let the light come inside and heal the wound the ones I tried to hide behind the scars in the sky the skies cover my eyes to see no more hear screams but see no war be still my breath Breathe No More still I find inside there is more of me left so I go to sleep where do I go when I am there why am I not aware unless I dream of being somewhere other than here letting my moods swing uncontrollably until I can no longer hold on to my reach suddenly letting go looking like Waldo tucked deep in my night walking shadow
The Immortal Wize
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Folding Back
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life
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