The pages crumple in the hands of Destiny, floating listlessly to a forlorn, rough sea that smells of salt and broken possibilities.

These crumbled pages block the threshold of life and dreams, fragmenting minutes and pausing years.

The untold memoirs of those lost to the wind drift afloat in our heads, their small, whispering voices making the feared become oppressed and making the scared close their bloodshot eyes and cover their ears as they begin walking in an endless sleep.

Wake the sleeping from their oblivious slumber and let them feel the icy feeling of the surprising horror of this world.

Take me to the light, where the air is like a fog, where souls are embedded in the sky, breathing in fear and telling time.