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Prospect #1 |
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Many days and fewer nights... so I'm told. |
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I've lost my time years ago... so I'm told. |
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The explaining. The whispered words. |
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This will be the hardest part... so I'm told. |
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I wish my mind would work... unfold. |
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The explaining. The whispered words. |
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The front door opened to the look of death. Will this make sense? Will this be comforting at all? |
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The questions dive in day and night. Nothing we can do. Nothing I can do. |
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Twists and turns must be answered. |
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I hit land... so it seems |
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The dirt chokes up my legs... strong air then shoots down my throat. |
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Sensory overload in an instant of sense. |
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Charting through old water that I pushed away to drown. |
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Into another. |
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To find and be found. |
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This is what I've set out to do. Where is this door? |
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Prospect #2 |
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The constant movement of my eyes. I can feel, but I can't open the lids. The back of my skin is scarred, torn and broken. |
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A reflection of what I've seen. (What have I become?) |
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They let these people recreate. Maybe I should have ended it all. Too late? |
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Moving forward is a must. |
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Dig deep. |
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Commence sleep inside sleep. |
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Silence. |
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(An out of focus picture brings up a familiar scenario: Three people fill the room. There seems to be a fourth, but very small. We are speaking about some sort of mission. My mouth won't stop moving... talking way too much. Even through the blur I can feel their stares. This one sided discussion seems to be about what I am preventing. Is this a sign? Too late... I've said it before. The people then disappear. I look about and the western sky seems to be red... alone. I can smell burning flesh... scorched life. I turn around and the face of death stares so grim that the lids finally open...) |
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I come to. |
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I'm close... Very close. But something isn't right. |
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A horrifying realization is swept over me. |
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Home. The empty space of home. |
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All I've known is gone. All I've loved is lost. |
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Silence. |
