That fucking dream...
I just want to breathe again. I'm not clausterphobic, but I can't stand to be smothered.
I guess it doesn't matter. I've felt the burning before. I remember it well. I cut the sinews out and clung only to insect wings. Flaming skies of childhood Julys. I Shook my head as fast as I could. I had to let it go, but I didn't want it to stop. I can't create in this foul fog.
I think about the end often, but never really lucidly. I'm always stumbling to hammer out the finer details. But they are always changing, mutating and reemerging in a unique form.
"Fuck it," I screamed.
The clouds above burst and showered down silken sheets of mist that swallowed me in a long, droll, and diaphonous parade of transluscent precipitation.