The wind rips through my damp hair; the sunshine beats down upon my face drawing out the coldness from my skin like a bongo's beat pulsating through my blood. The skies above are a pure blue, unfettered with neither cloud nor cotton. Beyond the blue, the light sparkles so brightly - twinkling so quickly it seems like it isn't - in a violet or an indigo or a blue or a green or a yellow or an orange or a red. Or a white.

In the wheels that spin round and round, I am falling. And I'm falling. Onto broken glass or the chorus that never ended. Into a heap and the mess that the long nights were; are. The lights go out and the rickety chairs topple over onto the hard tiles. The sun goes down and the fireworks shoot into the midnight blue. The needles they point at me in red, they mock me into an abyss of darkness. Ukuleles strum away in the background, as I wish to walk up and disappear.

So I sing. I sing myself into lethargy. And dreams - dreams that you dream for me; of me. With me. In dreams my feet won't hurt. In dreams I'd hold onto you, and never let you go. But only in my dreams.

Take care.