Monday, June 27

Little Slices of Death

I think that's what Edgar Allen Poe called sleep. The dark doorway of dreams. I'm getting less and less of it these days. I know why, you know why.

It's Isaac's fault. Why did he show me them? How did he show me them? I was blissfully unaware. Ignorance was bliss for me.

And now I can't find him. I've looked in the library each day, in the same room, but he's never there. He's gone.

Disappeared like a dream.

1 comment:

  1. I thought you were messing with us. I honestly did. It's a unique thing, knowing that you caused your own demise, isn't it?

    Oh well. My problems have always been the lamest of the bunch, so I guess all I have to do is keep dressed sharply and never move anything.