Ego

Distant eyes gaze upon me, and I cast my night's web into the darkness. The plants are all glued to the ceiling, and crushed lightbulbs lie at my feet. Their jagged edges ebb away at my callused toes, and the hands of time turn slowly so that I can palpably feel each tear of the flesh. Copious bundles of jams and jellies wait yonder 'cross the room, and they call my name with a sweet, sticky breath. As I lie down and slowly slip into a dream, my passions begin to break through: The ego has finally dissipated, its presence never to mock my ambitions again. I am now free to believe and imagine anything that I wish, for nothing is holding me back: Nothing and everything have at long last fastened together to create time itself, neverending. I am given life, yet I cannot feel content or grateful? Irony taints this realm within as its foul, reprehensible atmosphere consumes my life and the world around me.