Zynukthoom

Standing in the Night ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ I stand upon a star field – or perhaps the midnight’s stage. The ground supposed beneath my feet is brittle as a paper page. And now I ask a question, with an answer I should find: “To which plane do I belong? To real or undefined?” Time passes and the sky grows light. And now I know, I think I’m right. The world around me isn’t here. A dream is all it’s been. Dissolving fast and leaving me: reality can’t win.

Some might call me misled. I guess they’re probably right in saying that – at least by society’s common morals. But such is the price of being . . . individualistic. When I follow rules something in me screams objections, so I disregard them. Ever since I was able to see through my parents’ lies, I have run rampant through the less-trodden path. I guess it’s no wonder I ended up here. Ended up running away. Not just from home, though. From my past. From the future it would have lent me. I have other plans than what was handed to me. This isn’t to say that I’m afraid of facing my own actions; but I can’