Too early for lights. Not late enough for blackness.
Drifting . . . from disassociation, to no association. No point of reference. No direction. Handcuffed to immobility.
Wounded, not sure how deep. Cut off, once too often. Amputations without pain killers. Extractions of life. Imagination not functioning.
Mind, drowning. Darkened, blurry views.
HOLD ME. Hold ME. hold me. h d m .
No twinkles in the sky. No sparkles in your eyes. No harmony to be heard. No Magic. The death of hope.
I dream . . . of your shadow.
But there are no stars.
The Infinite 
Does this sadness foretell a transformation of a heart? Or…does it lead to a deeper void?
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