I'm probably too tired to dream... again. But I'm going to try and imagine the wonderful moment cocooned in grey wings as I drift off.
You'll have to excuse the next part, it's not going to make sense. I'm experimenting and I'm nearly asleep at the keyboard. And whether this matters, current music is 'Weapon of Choice" by Fat Boy Slim.
butterfly ghost in abaondon houses carry secrets on their shadowy wings
bits of the past that the eyes of the modern day man will never see
safe as he is between his mistresses Sanity and Lucidity
but having met with the whore-sons of Chaos, these images that do not exist mean more for me
because I can see them, even if I can't understand
so I'm trying to decipher a language I'm not sure I'm suppose to
and I look to the secret worlds within the minds where neither Sanity nor Lucidity can survive
which only puzzles me more, because I know I become as logical as any butterfly ghost
and yet this knowledge never stays
a fleeting thing I'm trying to grasp, so I wonder if I should
maybe these things are no more my right to capture
than said butterfly... in a jar.
...I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight.
