Sky Is My Mind

Did it care or matter what went on here, just so as the music is over, and the bodies are burnt? It watched with ease as flesh seeped to ash, and breath became fire. It was the thrill of the morning, that odor, mixed with pride's perfume that made existence something special, and sleep a rare and wasteful occupance.

It's not a crystal clear image, and is not meant to be. It is the collmination of all the new things thought of and created over night, and that which supports this rock we spin on, and yet, never move, but always shift, phase, and eventually end.

Most of the creations in this phase of tangibility move, smell, something controls something else, as the sky controls me. The rain is shelter to my burning heart, acidic soul, and exposive capabilities.

Even blood can fill the sky.