Much of my thought lies in shadows. A fern, small and all alone, sways its leaves lazily in the shrouds of emptiness of my mind as though caught in a breeze. A wolf, lean and gray, enters the view; its dusty blue eyes pierce at those who attempt to gaze into its eyes. I try to recall memories, but all that appears is surreal, fantastic imagery. A pocket watch dangles from the depths of black velvet, the clock's appearance enlarged in the strange emptiness.
As the people look in through the transparency of my mental state, they stare with hungry eyes searching for a bit of intrigue and awkward scenes filled with thick blankets of twilight, brimstone, and malice. A world of plague and famine leeches its way into the sultry walls of an individual's subconscious mind. In turn, the being is sacrificed by the melodramatic encounters of death and portrayal of sapping the thoughts for blissful ecstasy.
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