That previously mentioned journey
which had split
into two forked roads
Has been eaten by the travelers abroad
And in his memory
He is a projection
A top layer resting upon the foundation
Observing his own movements
Before he takes one step forward
and the bricks of past presents crumble beneath his feet
For, a decision has been made
And now it is 2018
and he is sitting on satin
listening to twangs birthed from yesterdays hangover
And he is trying hard to cry
but he is a desert
It is no longer 2015
and that fire from then has been long ago extinquished
despite his dryness
and above melting point temperatures
he is empty
without flame
nor water, nor nectar nor flowers
within him lives dust and stag beetles
because he is a desert
and he took the path of destruction
