It has been 18 hours since the last time
I slept to dream
In my awake life
I stutter to make sense
The constant stream of dead men walking
I would rather be musing the mysterious landscapes in my mind
Through my lens of an untangled world where stories unfold
I have known her a long time. A dear friend to me, she has shouldered my pain when I needed a resting place. She has an enchanting kind of charisma, and our secrets easily spill from us. We swear like sailors and cackle like hens. We raise our fists toward the heavens...