things.

things. sometimes it feels better when words are not spoken. ah yes, to put such creation into the formation of thoughts in such a way that it is exalted much like a flower might bloom, IS wonderful. although i feel that just sensing is important too. then you talk and it all starts resembeling the same or a continuation of the same. it's a whirlwind of candid madness then. twirling around, like electricity shocking water.you scream and run, run hard. the woods, the rain. screaming, falling. down. skull cracking. wet leaves. enter a hypnotic sprial & it all goes blank. darkness descending. approaching. it's hunting. sleep faster. die harder. wake up from your living world, into a dream like stupor. flipping through the pages and they all look just the same. it's the anguish, the rush you feel inside is so much more alive than this world. what is going on? the beauty? reality. all gone. a sub-world created of chaos, yes anarchy...haha and we *humans* thought this would end good? of course... how arrogantly quaint.

--By Zephyr Sapphire