untitled

The hoarse, stilted whisper creeping through the crack existing between the wall and the door roused the conscious self; snatching the end of the dark and transition to light from the being I am in my dreams. It took very little.
And then up, up, up. Father, Son, Daughter.
Bustle in the artificial darkness.
Click.
Now you can see your Vegemite and toast.
Drumming against sand-soaked porcelain;
wash away the night's sins.
Excrete the unholy so you can start the morning pure, ingest for later purification
DOn't talk, question then understand.
Son has left the building; hat and all.
The benjamin slumbers head towards the
ceiling - do our croakings enter his fog of the unreal?
Take the morning's waking potion and off we go.

Life is filled with interims of waiting - for what?
When will be the moment you cease and be
content - happy after all that work?
At least others are right there with you -
helping you pass the time. Slowly or fast?
Friend or foe?
Arrivals always bring joy - the waiting is over.
Belongings at the bottom - ass at the top.
Trespasser sleeps; throw their treachery to the
ground. And Sleep. Fill in the time with another's
words stored on the stolen flesh of Nature. Become
mesmerised by the ones left behind
 as they flash by - you're the centre of the universe.

Leave, leave - but come back in 20! Imagine
the desolate souls; how you pity those who
must remain here. Canned; so to speak.

Reclaim your territory! Stare at the same but
different. Appreciate what hasn't been taken
yet. Let your eyes trick you - relish in the idea
of being in Nature and then turn to your phone.

More waiting- you all want to be born again.
Release the morning in the afternoon and feel
empty for it.

Check and check again - 33 First Class only for
me. Repeat and repeat; why did the iPod break
at this time of year?

Holes represent your legitimacy for sitting here.

Fill in the waiting with more Nature.
Idealise and fantasis the impossible.