1. Bad day
A book writing it self over a used script, a masterpiece overwhelmed by black, so many pictures, sounds. The sentences making a mess of them selves, no longer full or rig' words at times. Where emotion overruled reason, only lack of focus stand in place.
Sometimes lost in fog and tall wood, sometimes chained in the dark bearing boulders, often out in the open dry wast desert.
The black room, the black safe.
Does the men there guard, break in or perhaps even out?
One of power and rage, the hair long, I think with fang and claw.
One so pale but in darkness hides, so thin, but towers above me why?
A silence so great it's almost loud at times.
Ones mind so out of tune I can't even begin to find that road even though I sometimes think I can see it just up ahead.
I know they don't belong, neither do you as you sometimes feel real, but at least I know exactly how unhealthy some memory is, trouble is what I can't answer on my own.