Volcano rabbit entered my room to drag the rat of despair underneath my bed to decompose a symphony of melancholy nightmares.
When the bubonic rat lived to become a cat who grew into a spider to then suck the soul dry of the living dead who sometimes haunt within the least frequented “rooms” where the secrets of fate, chance, of God and of chaos are stored in the sarcophagus wardrobe of existence. It was only then the islands of thought became my future of happiness. So it seemed.
For forty days and forty nights the deluge of tears from that ten thousand million flooded the streets of a city filled with empty people. As the tears dried, the drains of my
dreams were cleared of insanity and loneliness. Life would begin again once yesterday becomes another world, another existence. If today is not treated with care then yesterday could return tomorrow.