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The Parrellel Analog Conpendium (the twleve day index game) III I am muscle, blood flesh bound between two worlds stuck like Dick Clarks reputation. I am single slighted off from those who would seek to make me do my best, though there were no reason for it. I am few, those who share my consternations, and who vaguely grasp just how badly i'm insane. My thoughts are my thoughts, though there is no reason to think them. I am so alone. What I am is so final, only to become something so flawed. My lines to run the distance, are lulling me too deep, only that which must not be, the final ending point of me. This spin so short, the sounding structure of all that lies, nothing therein pass the test of me. This is the end now, pointing so as facing flow. There is next, and there is me, forward backward falling free. |