My head is filled with things beyond reality and insanity. They are no longer fantasies, maybe they never were. It is with great wonder I tell you this, why I do not know. My thoughts are still immortal, but not yet illegal. Why won't it take it's end?
A part of me is still looking, what is there to see. Others are mysteries, like a blur in it's way, contemplating the gift of freedom. The happiness in your life, won't last enough to hold. Like a hand approaching the light, but the sun is not always there to find.
To the end of my story I search behind my shoulder. Something appears to retrieve it's glory. Will I speak upon you or no one?