i lie in bed after a day alone, a day of work broken up by text conversations, but no real human contact. i lie in bed and let my thoughts drift, really drift, not pulling the reigns even when the threads become twisted. drift. and think of a cloud i saw earlier in the day that looked a lot like my mother's face. i wonder what she would look like now. she's been gone so long. drift. and catch a snippet of a tune from long ago, a song lost to me now. it meant so much to me then.
these are nights i wrestle with my conscious, and his brothers sub and un. there's a certain freedom there, a freedom to let down my guard for more than five minutes, a freedom to not feel the need to perform perpetual psychic housekeeping, to let the floor of my imagination sprout weirdness after weirdness. it's a sort of awake dreaming.
the text notification rings and i'm brought out of my semi sleep. it takes me a moment to gather the parts of my mind scattered through the astral plane.
it's all madness, the text reads.
no, madness is a serious commitment, i reply.
ghost
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