On the Brink
I left my consciousness in the sixth dimension.
This morning I resided in a dreamworld untouched by the woes of man, far removed from the vibrations of life. On the event horizon of reality, seeking solace in my convoluted thoughts and arcane imagination. A reverie I could only hope to never be torn from lest I awoke on the brink of a stinking abyss. For man is just a pitiful mass of flesh and blood and viscera and excrement who serves to fill this pit with their drivel.
Yet I could hold on only so long. On the dawn of this new day I once again had to fetch my conscious and lift my disconsolate existence from the shelter of the night and face the ugly, gnarled, and forsaken souls of those around me. I looked into the mirror and acknowledge the black mass that builds within me day in and day out. A cancer of the spirit, a lethal affliction which binds me and drags me through the waking hours. Longing once again to slink back to the darkness and rest my head and allow my mind to wander the endless pathways of imagination, for I cannot bear another hollow word, another crippled aspiration another mask of false happiness.
I must be strong however; perhaps if I survive the day I might be greeted by the endless roads of my imagination, and may once again be at peace.