I hate this desperation, the silliness and futility of it all. I haunt the silence with song, calling on the thunder, and hoping that the light will follow. But the absence swallows each note, and the days grow darker still. So I wander and float, distracted from direction by vague aspirations; I breathe vapor dreams- the shadows of stories by winsome phantoms planted in the pit of my soul. I reach to touch a one and scatter the vision like a mist lost to invasion corporeal. With each dream so felled, the gentle dissolution makes my own violent and intolerable. I would that I could get out of this place and into the brightness of the sun.