I am not alive, drifting through breathing and blinking motions. Autumn leaves and crisp soil fade to white nothingness leaving only the reaper hand of November. Distant cities are erected then demolished in a million spare thoughts. Armageddon behind closed eyelids. I just want serenity in the chaos, to throw a black sky over the burning world. But I'm reduced to jittering like a junkie waiting for his fix of pain. Sterilize the needle so angels can march through my veins. Let the harps whisk me into a thousand year coma where I can finally exist.