The Day Before. (Undergoing Re-Writing as 01/11/22) (Sequences 1-4 finished)

Sequence Two.

Sequence Two.

I wake up. I lie in an ocean now, all of the sudden. Awoken from a nap, to be unspoken. Adrift I am in the middle of a sea I can see, a calm water I lay—a storm blowing far out—the swells, they are large, but I know not, in doubt.

The coastline swims towards me and I grab on. The waters that were calm—now hell-spawn. I walk onto the coast, energy lost, walking away with my drips—like ships in the sand I coast. I walk away now, on my trip.

A bird flies up to me, in my eyes. He tells me goodbye. I needed this, I needed it bad. Away the bird flies, mouse dead in it's hands. Not claws—no—these claws are like hands. But hands they are not, now tied with bands. Like something bland known to this bird somehow, assured, tired and grand. Like a human it stands, conceding brands, mind wandering like man.

Who is this that might speak the truth? Is it this bird, who now be on his way—to a place I am not sure of—but it is on his way? Who be this bird of truth? Is it that he tells it, maybe to you?

If this grave now I lie I cannot breathe speaks the truth, then I rest my soul here... but it is not the truth. I feel it. It cannot be. I mustn't stay here with it. I have to keep on. There must be a way. Like a map of hell, all layers are burnt. If this mind, I cannot say, cannot retain—cannot contain—if it sends me astray or vanishes away... no please, I refrain.

Again with this? What is this? Who are you? Are you madness? You illusion, you. You aren't really you, are you? Are you true? You couldn't be real. But then again what is real? Is anything real. What is here? What is me right now? What is anything? Why am I something, and why am I able to question this question of what anything is? I tear.

Am I God? Probably not. Just more endless, random thoughts flow as I walk on this beach all alone in nothing at all. Feeling nothing, walking slow. Feeling so unreal, having no feeling to feel. Not the sun on my face that is there or the sand under my feet that I walk with in fear. I just am in this place that I seem to be. I am here.

I feel myself. I feel my body. I feel that I am complete—my body I mean. My mind stays the opposite, dirty and unclean. Possibly I am missing some piece that is me. It is something like make believe. Like that vision, I think, it feels that way—I believe.

This madness that I am descending into is growing nightly—not daily—no wait, daily as well. My thoughts and mind they run rampant, like a wishing well. A wishing well reaping hell on the wishers of well, breathing swell.

Breathe... breathe... I cannot breathe here. As I start to try, I lose the meaning of what this word breathe even means. What does breathe mean?

Breathe could mean anything. If I have forgotten what the word breathe means, what will be the consequent action behind it that I am forgetting to do as well? Breathe... breathe... I cannot remember what it means. Now another lost memory dies. They will one day try to take me, take my mind. My memories are now somewhere, a somewhere disguised.

Nothing continues to make sense and no wisdom seems to grow into endurance. Yet still I persist to wonder and wander like this in existence, as my mind now has a vision all of the sudden decisions, yet again it sways me with it's envisions. It tempts me yet empties me as if I resent to be sent to see what is meant to be a trinity of unholy divinity, limiting... differently. My sins shall see. Maybe then I can breathe. Whatever that means.

It starts again—the rain. The rain and the pain, like a thunderous train. It hits my eye and wakes me again. I continue from here in vain still in search of the truth to obtain and that tree and that bird, still on it's way, not in flight—forevermore.

As I lie down under some trees I see that they are covered in a light layer of snow. Cold and raw they must feel. Daring sun glows, melting—no—warming the foals that now get up real slow.

I try to run to them, I do try. But they outrun me and they begin to fly. I try to do the same but I fall down and nearly die, at least I felt. I fall through the ground. Now I'm surrounded by blood, like a red sea all around. Why is there blood? Am I losing my mind too? Wicked youth.

I see an eye in my eyes that is now seeing me watching myself see what I am. Trojan, a horse of man. Uncanny can. The deference of evil, depressing stance. Why can't I understand? The truth has, clearly, been left behind. I will go back to look for it, it is far behind.