Now I rise from my stupor.

A cloud of haze still lingers before my sight..

But I know it- I am awake

The art of remaining in a coma

Is

Precisely that.

It is not without effort that one cages themselves within a coma. Allowing the senses to speak the day,

Louder, louder, and louder still,

Their truths falling unto deaf ears,  

A void of pseudo-non-recognition.

All in favor of the perpetuation of this vegetative state raise your hand.

Now drop dead.

Now is the time to come clean.

Dust off the remaining ashes of times that consumed us.

We are on the rise.

Fly.

Fuck You.

You ain't shit.

The cold rushes that came without you

Are my friends now

What else could you possibly have to say

To me

Except lies

Fanciful or full of fact

I ain't interested

For im no Caesar

And youre no Brutus.

Me no Popeye

You no Olive Oil

Endymion, I will not be

For you hold not Lucifera's light

And he called unto the Lord..

How can it please you to see those that tend to your light fallen to dungeons of despair ?

Silence.

I am only interested in those who can climb out.