Is it our destiny to forget? Is that what *it* wants? Does a grim past and an insistent future force a death march?
I truly am tired of being a puppet of a crocodile, yet when a tire with all it's stupid black weight kills a sleeping snake whose only crime was to sun itself asleep where under the sun with all the miles behind us do we lay down the key and at last find peace?
I look at the ground, crushed by infinite up, and realize that I don't know it from down.
Call me avalanche, call me typhoon, call me tornado and torn soul and scattered fangs, the hounds barking the divine laughing a rushing river and a scream upon the wind.
Whimper, whisper, original sin, from heaven's fall to raven grin. Howl at the void come world's end.
Are you sure? Of course you are. I did look down and realize after all that broken and flat it was me.