The Bornless One

I am the Bornless One of a trip fantastic. Golden array alights on brain matter making waves of blood splatter for empty graves for days and days, but what does it matter? Cold birthing artful dodgers on old earthen green splotches rambling on towards more doors and empty corridors, watching. Open and see and I saw: A translucent horse and mirth followed him. The rider was I, my Ego, Me. Fear goes by to those fantastical instances of brownbag glimpses. The laughter. The laughter of witches gliding through the æthyr, but neither. Come with me to this abode of the old house and home of solitude and alone. Rust and stone, dust and bone. I made peace with the Sun about all that I've done and at last, myself. my Self.