Order of Death

The death of dreams. 

She spoke to me with robotic eloquence. I looked long into red orbs, windows to her soul, surrounded encumbered by gears, cogs and wires. With whirs and blips, one hard hand on my shoulder with pincer digits gripped into pressure points, she rendered me motionless in sour sweet pain that shattered my teeth in grimace, and quietly imparted in chrome and monotones.

"The realization that your perception cannot overcome the infinite weight of reality. This dimension only understands action. You will not punch your way through the heather and slipstream between the gauze bandaging your inherited essence. Space is empty and sausaged to the gills full, seeping over onto the burners. Space is what you take with the occupation of existence. Nothing. Every thing. That is your job. Your worth is a number determined by what is physically given to a faceless remorseless society by you. That is your payment. The recompense is not quantifiable by normal means. Enigmatically simple. There is no need to be angry about it. The richness of the life inside your mind is no more than a hot breeze through a seared desert named Subdue. It gets frigid at night. Remove your personal government.

Ability, like knowledge, is inert. Inactive and deactivated, nonexistent without the electrical impulses of gray matter. You are a song unsung. Home within which you reside is the ghost of the earth. Her moods blanket as the sky overhead. The atmosphere is ashes. Dead bodies. It's what you eat breathe."

I have time traveled with thorns in my sides. I have rolled in the briers  My hands are torn. The blood has run down my arms, seeping the entirety of the skin from armpits to ankles. It has filled these well worn dusty hole infested boots and congealed sticky cold. Inhale deep through flared nostrils the intangible aura. Fill your lungs with the ether in a near never ending uptake of breath and consume what has been offered to us; the undeserving. The projectile exhalation of fire, a dragon's weaponized roar from between my gums scorches the all and the always with eardrum shattering skydive thunder. My face is a maw, a shark, a great white with flame thrower intentions. Underfoot the earth quakes from my steps, or I am vibrating with each (e)motion. In each hand curled fist, black holes constrict. Devastate the mass of wants become needs. We are the stuff of dreams whispering whimsy into the ear of God. The monsters wiretapped our souls by means of aged desiccation during the time of our plummeting birth. I left a comet trail of dead skin dust across the empyrean.  The crater impact was visible before audible. It ruptured our equilibrium. Our precious secrets held in constrictive hearts was then revealed by the eavesdropping of nightmare creatures. We were found out. Paradise compromised. 

The warmth hugs the back of my neck as I walk away. I seeped the wood in petrol, stacked my life in a tee-pee pyre and easier than I thought, struck the match with a spark from the teeth of a smile. Action without worry. My resignation as an architect is tendered. Infected, the wound must be cleansed. It also kills innocence; healthy skin. I am a murderer. We all are. Rotation on the axis protects my tears on the dark side, facing away from the sun. I will not pause. The echoing footfalls deliver me from a blistered back. The blinding conflagration recedes to a holocaust inferno. I lick the smoke from my lips. How many moons? I can cleanse in the salty embrace of the ocean as the aft horizon can only stir my memories with a pinprick of light. It will become a star. One day, I will look upon it from nothing. The best vantage point is always cold. It's the distance. I love the cold. Maybe because I love the fire, the stars. Floating on gentle waves, the horizons resemble shattered glass. So many lights. So many pyres. How many moons?  Wake up. Keep walking. Arrive. Depart. Keep walking. Wake up. There is no sleep. Only quicksand. My skin is melting. Mesmerized, clear my head with a rough shake and the fantasy erupts away in mist. Released. Keep walking. It will become a star. The death of dreams.