'Twould have to be a very small truck, or a large opening.
Last night, I may have succombed to myself a little more than I would like to. Rushing realizations sourrounded me and shrouded my clouded mind. The burning, incandescent heat of truth remains fervent on my mind even today. Though I feverishly strive to write whatever comes from the depths of my mind, I fear it is in vain, for the true revelations of my clockwork shant ever be truly personified by words nor actions. Though I have the desire, I am afraid. The word "friend" has a completely different connotation to someone as myself now. Someone being me, but in the same sense, who am I but no one. I cannot be nothing, for nothing is something, that something being nothing, defining the whole sense of obscure meaning of the very idea. Back and forth, to and fro, paces the thoughts in my head. A million fold what I have felt in quite some time, for more than a blue moon has set since then. Prerequisites do not define ones position in a relationship, whether cordial or intimate. Remnants of ready requirement receed relunctantly into the menial base that is the sanctity of sanity held within the confinds of an unknown being. Scratches and knocks at the door, something calls from withing, I dare not acknowledge for fear of overwhelming cataclysm. Dreams, broken promises to the philosophical, befuddle and muddle the clarity once purveyed. Why were you in the dreams of someone so unfit? It seems as if you have domain over too much, yet I cannot object, for such a torture seems fit for a beast of burden.