Prefer you my romantical ghost with beating heart and spirit ascending from this grave to show I still love you?   Prefer you a love letter from the depths of my grave? One penned in ink, or in tears from my veins?   Prefer you to pluck a crimson...

That pulsating moonglow within, The lantern of my soul, Barely illuminating a strange, dark world.   The supernovas within my eyes Ignite the veil of psychosis, Torching all the delusions.   Revealing reality, The light within the dark, The obscurity of the twilight.

Eyes so fixed, they glaciated in sight of the arctic reality!   Icicles hanging from my eyelids before the wintry glow of the sun, which is nowhere near to thaw tearcicles.   These frozen chimneys, when thawed, billow the black smoke of my breakdown!   The alpenglow on the snow-capped summits of...

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...