Over, and around, beneath me, all things move in orbit. The dreamer hides behind his sleep, and wakes only to shake his limbs and feel them push and pull against the weight of gravity. I lie down over and over again, awake, sleeping, in dredges of monotonous stupor just to flail against the monstrous bulk of time and space, hoping that one day my actions will free myself from my ominous self-premonitions.

Escape. A many repeated chapter of my life, untold stories of world between stages of awakeness. A forever, between a fleeting life. Maybe my stories are my immortality, my godhood amongst mortal men.

I live in them, dream of them, dine with them.