Rusted shut sweat dream eyes.

Grown down, long vines strapping the path ahead.

I revolt at the isolation of standing here.

Where does my vision drift? I look for hindsight memories of the future.

Standing here, I am down. Laid beside myself, observer and actor.

Twist the knobs, pull the levers. Dart, dash, dodge.

Shades of wisdom to avoid, heal this broken path – split by the untrodden.

If ever a thousand forevers I’ve lived, choice is a memory, and I need choice to live beyond my time.