In these dreams,
Fantastic whispers
Calling,
Calling me,
Into a void.
I am not unlike any man.
I am not unlike any other man; I am but one
And alike all others.
Why this hide to be furnaced?
Deep in endless hypnotic tantalization.
Inoculated in my blood.
And in this buried slumber,
Horror scents me,
Hung by it's elaborately intertwined brush,
Via it's tentacled beard.
And now, born of oblivion,
Now oneirological sectrical limbs climb my flesh,
In what was once my refuge of familiar aspects.
It is here where we let this flesh-avid nightmare rouse our bones
In somnambulant sleep.
Where teachers are taught,
Businessmen bought,
And priest prayed.