Bright light. Awake to a mid summers afternoon to find you�ve become everything of what is yesterday and nothing of what was tomorrow. Empty shelves covered in poetic prose, the works of yesterday�s evening revealing the dreams that never began and the nightmares that bleed within our every breath. Scattered clothes and empty boxes surrounding a small twin sized bed, blankets strewn across the floor, pillows worn from endless turning. Rise. Clinking glasses silently sound in a crowded sunlit room of no ones and across the floor you perceive the one person that you always strive not to be: Yourself. Immediate, you find it hardest not to look away, the broken mirror of years bad fate telling the tale of your future of design: birth, life, love, loss, death; the trials of your everyday spilled on your bedroom floor in a perplexed mass of falsehoods. Propaganda is the name of the drive and in your mind you posses a lifetime ticket to ride. The cycle never concluding, always in inauguration as if to prove you were wrong once more. Once more they were right, the salvage of your single ounce of valor now drowned away in the last drop of this mornings fretful medicine. You will never be right in this life of your former self. We never are. Beginning to float away along the sun�s casting rays, never surviving past the bounds of your window. The blinds folded over permit the escape of your shadow but will never be your release. Forever trapped in this room of shadows, we will die. Bare walls and paper covered floors, yes we will perish. One by one, all in an instant. Blanketed floorboards, dew covered morning grass, star filled nighttime sky: it�s all the same: Disease. Dark hooded cloaked men, bearers of the inferiority of our life�s prize. In this room we will rest our casket of time and bury ourselves in paper weighted dreams of our next life. Pen in absence of ink signaling the final chapter has been written...drown away in the nightmares of reality. Close the book and lock it with the end of time. This time. This fear is gripping my bedposts. These tears are bleeding from my eyes. These deathly thoughts are becoming my life. And I�m alone. I�m all alone and I�ve never been so scared.