the days go by

and you, mes semblables, have wanted more of this. more than one page per day of this, this being not a story nor a journal nor a single word of truth. not even coherent.

words, words, words, words! naught but lies. this isn't happiness. you might as well listen to the birds

and this could be the last three seconds of my life. the notes of my drowning
my last will and testament

(death by water)

such drama

i never dream, he said.

but everyone dreams.

not i. at night it's just blank. a plug pulled. i sleep and i wake.

you just don't remember.

no! don't you think that by now i'd be aware of that? no... i just don't dream. at all. he looked away. and i envy. all those who dream of flying and climbing and parties or people and ridiculous, terrifying things like falling or losing teeth or dying and blood. i've never had a nightmare.

in my sleep, even the darkness is something to see