Surreal

Cellophane trumpets blast.

The stuttering rhythms burn through the soul. All is being lost.

Nobody knows you. I don't know you. I fall through you

there is no feeling—just a falling sensation. forever

and ever.

paint splatters against the walls—creating swirled and mindconfounding designs, vaguely familiar, yet

unknown.

Swirling in a syphon of despair the sun sets... rises. and rises again, bringing new light to a lost world.

Hearts swell.

they crawl out of their owners—no pain. no feeling.

the hearts wish to enjoy the soft warmth, unhindered by opaque clay bodies

a heartwarming sight.

smiling faces stare into the sun.

their hearts bask in its warmth and feel the glory.

the sun smiles back down.

A new world—lost, disattached from the grey world of modern man

visions ballet and war through the processors of those in somnium

faded

jaded

a blurred pandemonic garble of not-needed excesses

mesh messes clean the world of hopes for creation of new

swarles wage battles for themselves and for clearance of individs

nay.

a hole of life

hope

love

appears.

it beckons calls begs pleads invites all who want

Here

-i answer-

here

let me in.