I ran until I could not run anymore. And then I ran some more. I sought forever and still have never started. I don't understand, nor do I want to. Days have become an old event. Nights are occasionally eventful. Mountains are oceans and seas are the sky. Helium balloons are currency, although they fade away. I think I'll make my own reality; this one is too... real. My eyes should be bigger; they are crucial. I want to see more than this; I want absorb everything. But my skin should be thicker, to keep the bad things out. The rhythm the rhythm the rhythm of life would be steady be steady be steady. Peace would not be important, just a dream. Hate would be pleasant, not like here. Everything would be the same, just... different. I could live there, without myself, just me, not all that other clutter. I will form it with my hands, with my body, with my strength. With my legs, with my arms, with my back, I will form it. And not all are invited, just a few. There will be music, more harmony than melody. It will pulse, race, lull, sweep. Roll in my toes roll in my diaphragm. Roll in my cranial region. It's fresh and lush and makes me ache. Everything hurts. I don't understand, nor do I want to.