Everything is a mirror. The tension in the sky, the lights, the hope, the gold and black teeth, flashes of brilliance amongst the darkness, the absent spark, the beautiful truths, the walk home along a path where puddles of rain steam soft upon the hot asphalt. Is the ghost a shape of things to come? Or does it merely pass through the walls I have built, to chill the warmth of the fire which receives it. Flickering and dancing at the lost and lonely phantasm it burns, fueled strong enough now to weather this tin roofed storm.
There is water music pouring from me. A rain song. My arms wrap around myself as I splash home, neither up nor down, and the smoke from my cigarette curls behind me, to mark my trail for The One who lies in wait. Come find me, come find me, come find me.
I never dream anymore.
I simply close my eyes, and open them upon a new day.