Once upon a time I took control of every moment, which was mine, and built a castle in the sky. But every time that I awoke, I had to come back down. So I strung a rope of hope and predicted my destiny by speaking it aloud. I pulled with all of my might! It didn’t matter how long it’d take. For time was all mine. I was becoming all the time that was stolen. Minute by minute, night after tear stained night, I screamed bloody murder; I demanded my truth from me. Now when I open my eyes, the castle has materialized and the earth is all mine to adore. Blood is everywhere. Every river runs red; every atom of the forest floor is sticking to the bottom of my feet. The people are screaming for salvation, but there’s nothing I can do but weep. They don’t want to witness the end with me. They don’t want to admit defeat. They refuse to sacrifice anything. Clutching their precious metal and dust with vengeful fists, they lose the very air they breathe. They are unfamiliar with this breath. They will feel nothing. I sit on a mountain and watch them shake and squirm under the weight of these massive machines of their own creation. Their bones ache to feel the life left inside of me. I give them nothing. I fake my own death to surrender identity. I vanish into thin air. I breathe endlessly. I write in vain of the damnation of the cursed man, but I am unconcerned. My intentions are honest. I only write for me. I want to stay alive. I want my body adorned, freed, cherished, nurtured, purified and released from this horrid dream. I want the magic that lives in me to create what is seen. I want one thought. I think therefore I am. I think that I am free. I think that this sickly dream was created with intention to manipulate me out of my godliness. I think the creator was a weak little man buried in fear. I think he tried to manifest this fear by continually thinking that this was all that was here. I think he projected this fear before himself before he had the chance to sleep. For if he had lied beside, just one night, he would’ve remembered everything, he would’ve dreamt of childhood. Before the machines, before the big boys with those loud toys made a mockery of his tender hearted natural existence. He created in spite of himself, he sacrificed everything, and now he laughs demonically as they all play his game. We all created this machine. We all deserve the decay that remains. We killed the love in the boy. We called the creator insane. We tied the girl’s imagination to her boney body and set them both aflame. We called it education, and remained perfectly obedient to the sacrifices made. We all decided in unison to murder our own love, to give away our time. It was your choice babygirl. You made it. Now you lie with the dying and try to deny it. But death is a stench that cannot be cleaned. Scrub those possessions all you like! Take ownership of nothingness and kill defending. Death is still death, and you and your spotless existence reek of it. The woman on the mountain cries in the palms of her hands. The boy beside her is whining; he’s certain he can save her. Water is the only thought I carry. I move toward the purest source that I can find and create a home from nothing. I build a castle with naked feet. I learn the earth, which begs my weight to surrender to the flow of love that will heal me. I nurture my body with what I’ve learned to grow. I dance entire nights away without noticing. When the sun showers my skin with love again, it will be of my summoning. Your wish is my command, says my love to me. I am obedient insists my thoughts. I will follow you blindly. I don’t need to look at anything here. I don’t need to speak to anyone but you. You fear nothing. I know this. Because I have spoken it upon you, so that you may find the spirit that possesses you, she’s been following me around, begging for you. She’s a brat. But I can’t help that I was born to adore her. So I do. The truth can be simple if you let it. Your truth is unlike any other. You must write it, or will live another’s. Don’t live to love me. Find my love living inside of you. We are the same, you and I. There is nothing separating our love but skin, you can’t get out of yours and I cant get out of mine. Until we meet again. Death isn’t what has been written of it. Be careful what you read. Listen to your own voice. Don’t trap yourself with it. Death is dancing, movement through a continuum, the possessed decays naturally. The creator writes another story, from beginning to end. Once upon a time I was in possession of your body. Before you died, my love, I was banging on your ribcage from the inside, crying out, begging you to see what was standing right before your eyes. Kneeling. The reflection showed his head buried into you guts and her hand reaching for your neck. She never made it to the finish line. You killed him when no one was looking. His stare was showing them too much. You couldn’t take the risk. He went willingly. She refused to die. We lived happily; forever came and went, as she does from time to time. The end was never a certain thing.