| He was in his room, half awake, half asleep
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| The walls of the room seem to alter angles
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| Elongating and shrinking alternately
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| Then twisting around completely so that he was on the opposite side of the room
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| A trick of the light and too much caffeine, he thought
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| Then came a knock on the door
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| And this sound was the same dark-brown tone as the wood of which the door was
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| made
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| At first, he thought he’d imagined it
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| Because it would not have been out of place with the other strange
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| hallucinatory events of that night
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| But then it came again
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| Only heavier this time
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| With a sense of real urgency
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| So pulling himself up
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| And stepping through pools of moonlight and shadow
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| He made his bleary way across the room towards the door
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| And slowly, apprehensively, raised the latch
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| The latch became a fingertip, touching his own
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| Energy sapping as a new form, transversing the edge of his emotions
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| His power became his agony, his power knew no bounds
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| Whereas before, his peace withstood the vastness
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| His prerogative became an endless force of the all impossible
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| His final soul is flying with contempt only
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| Even the legendary glance backward to meet with eternity’s stone in peace or
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| save his already destroyed
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| You cannot share, the temperature is rising
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| The ghost and monkeys make a choice
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| This…
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| This…
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| He tried to will himself back to bed
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| He wanted desperately to feel the reassuring crisp, white sheets once taken for
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| granted
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| To be back home, safe as houses, protected by walls covered in familiar patterns
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| But even wallpaper had become sinister to him
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| He remembered staring into the paisley print and seeing a repetition of skulls
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| At night he would listen to the click of heels on the concrete outside
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| And try to imagine the facial features of the unseen figure
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| He would always see his own face
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| And another realization of this prophecy rang terrible and true
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| For at this moment, it was indeed, his own feet that filled the shoes
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| Shoes that no man would want to wear
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| Into the hills then to search for another searcher’s closely held goals
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| Into the forest under the billowing leaves
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| Under the dreadful birds, the singing soil, the decrepid babies,
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| the unhappy new loves
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| The preaching alphabutics, the long-lost lovers never to find the safety of
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| their mothers
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| In fact, all the guilty clouds he will move into a playground
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| A sense of moonlight and shadow
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| All the stars touch to the cold molten sunflower, fly to his middle eye
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| The wallpaper had sinister tones
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| Alas, white cold
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| Alas, rainbow’s middle infinity’s destination
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| All life’s drums drink from bottles and visioins are blinded |