On days when nothing is right.

My present state of consciousness is a little fox being chased down by a pack of violent memory-hounds, fiercely barking up the time-tree from which I've sought my interim refuge. They are loud. Overwhelmed by the chaos in my head, I fall off and into an ocean of tears below. A deep blue that spews waves, haunting with thunderous voices so loud you don't know it's there. They are eventually ceased, crashing on the shore of this reality I have become grossly accustomed to. Must there be so much of you, Ignorance? Is there nothing more beautiful than you, that I should choose you above another?


How real is my mortality. How real is eternity. How real is my Lord.