Realism is a distant, flickering star. I know not what the tastes of reality are.   Some will share this glimmering sky with me, and to them, fortunate enough to see   a surrealist, star-blanketed day-sky.   I abide by the lonely confines of the only home...

It is a firestorm that rages and whirls within my body, that no hand of sanity can smother.   My innards burn, my blood boils, the flesh upon me bubbles.   Sane, as I may have been before, the virtues that encased this body with innocence has long but...