When I hear the herd,
the obscene scene scream,
the line blurs between
dead end and dream.
Is the next plane plain,
a different planet or more
of the same. Will colors form
through rain when light
breaks apart. In vain,
I wonder. As I plunder
each dimension,
do I understand anything new,
or do I just stand under
nothing with you.
And if the latter is true,
can I climb those see-through rungs
and ascend to something blue.
Without succumbing to
the dreaded few.
They that become more and more
Without regard for the ocean floor.
Where we've been before.
I'm pretty sure it's a pretty shore.
I'm pretty sure, we'll miss time galore
but fuck it.
Regret is what life is for
because getting over it
makes you feel better than before.
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