I see the world, a face of absolute security hiding among trumpeters and buzzing insects. Cheers rise behind the wall, carrying from ear to ear, distant harmony.
Though in reality, all these people lie sound asleep in their beds, lie sleeping overseas.
As the soft pitter-patter of piano echoes through the fallen halls, fallen halls and walls,
I can't see myself in the mirror behind the masses, in the glass behind the smoke.
I can only see a faint reminder of imperfection; I can only see a blur.
Auburn colors swirl with the white curls of smoke that climb up like vines.
These patterns of my own image drip away and form a solid print of nothingness. Gallivanting smells jump from foot to toe in petals of Camelot pink,
The air beats with blissful irony,
And the tinkering murmurs of ivory notes fade away.
I cannot see myself.
I cannot even see a blur.
I only see space ahead of me.
Space and time alike, blending into that once painting of smoke and color that blocked the world before me.
I can only see a screen with some sun golden light illuminated behind it.
The screen is lifted,
And I can only see myself,
Standing alone,
Surrounded by a long gray wall.

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