Empty rooms that weren't there. Faces of people who were not. Words spoken that never were. Memories of all that is not.

I am trapped in these rooms of which I have no memory. They form a labyrinth with no escape. My only company is familiar faces all too unfamiliar. Whose words never reach my ears.

I am tired. I lie on beds that are not there. I wake to sun without windows. I see a stranger's face in the mirrors on empty walls…

Let life be not the end. Let death be the beginning. Let me open my eyes anew, be brave in this new world. Herald me in the bringer of dawn. I wake to the sun.

Cast away the stars. The earth is no place for the heavens. Blue skies are my hope. I set my sights on clouds. That there is beauty on this earth.

I am become me. I am determined to live. So long as the wind does blow shall dusk cease to dawn. And I breathe deeply. The air fills me with life…

Comes nothing today. My greatest enemy. Whose presence is warned by the unfoldings of tomorrow. That should the pieces fit in harmony, then comes nothing today.

Nothing sits in silence. Nothing speaks no words. Its presence is its meaning. Its absence, its intention. When no one goes, nothing comes. When nothing's done, nothing does. It does all that was not.

It need not speak, only come. It need not be seen, only felt. It need not need. Only desire…

Who am I to lament my sorrows? Do I consider myself special? Do I consider myself different? If everyone else endures the very same, be it by another name, then who am I to suffer?

My haunting face too knows pain. As much pain as it has caused. My sorrows are born of sorrow. My pains arise from pain. The distance between it and I are but further cause. The words it utters transcend time. I am beguiled by beauties of the past. I turn my head to see. I am cut and scarred by present sights. I turn away in resignation. And comes the song of futures unlived. I am helpless but to look. Spoken pain. Tangible sorrow. Visible lamentation…

Who am I from aside? To watch the world spinning by? Cheering faces going places, taking life for what it is. They go around, hand in hand, spinning round in courtyards grand. Altogether, they and them, the sounds I hear of cheerful men.

To watch from a distance, is this my existence, to engage with the world in only the past tense? Because that's not my home and this isn't me. I embrace who I am and my own understanding. I know what it means for them to be happy. They spin with joy so long as there's sun. When there's light shining down, they know only fun…

The sky must not be blue. The grass must not be green. I must not be myself. Nor must you be you.

Not a thing must be as it seems. Everything is backwards. Everything is upside down.

I light fires that grow cold. Moonlight burns my skin. The skies are lost to the vast darkness of the stars. The earth beneath my feet rots and festers while the words people speak lose their meaning to the air…

There is a God who weeps softly in the sky, whose tears fall down like rain. Whose calls ring out like roaring thunder, whose anger cracks the earth. His anguish calls the seas to rise, His pain erupts from earth's own heart.

He weeps for the chance He gave us at life, for a God does not know what is living. In the blink of an eye, His world runs astray, before He has a chance to know life…

I see an old and battered face sitting here before me. A face that I have grown to love as equally as hate. I see the lines that make it so, the wear of life unjust.

The eyes I see are without light, though in light they are illuminated. The wrinkles are not those of joy. The smile not of happiness…