Lackadaisical traits in me outshine the systematic preferances I could have displayed. Melancholic sheets of clouds release to a dull blue, soaking in introspection. A life buoy floats in the middle of a cynic ocean, an alert emphasises amidst the hopelessness. As the music sorrowfully chants "spider web and it's me in the middle, so I twist and turn..", I begin to drift away from reality's entanglement.

Floating in the bask of the magnificent dusty apricot sunset, I feel the capacity of my breathing take a stringendo. The beauty of its denial keeps me ecstatic in paralysed consciousness, summons bold thoughts and dreams to suffice. Staging before me is a remarkable sight, one of a familiar face, an angelic aura surrounding grandeur itself. Eagerly trudge forward, childlike inquisitivity fills me up, and a vision of you bathing in the sun's awe stood before me.

Then, I hear you screaming in the washing fires of purgatory. I try to grab your grey cloak that fell to your ankles. You shrilled for aid and struggled in the flames. An image of an cremating oven appears in front of me, and the crimson chaos engulfs you into the oven that cooked your life out of you, that burned you physically away from me.

Dreams, always persist ugly.