This morning looks at me like many mornings have, but not many more will. It's darker out now, one of many definitive signs of the passage of time. Leaves swirl in a symmetrical trance of gold and red; a symbol that the Lingering Sentiment of an old god is here, among us. Waiting.

As am I. As we all are.

The cadence of existence throbs in my temples, walking in front of the past that sits behind me - a guidewire, a shadow - as I walk forward into the future, lusting. Harmonic balance. Holy ghosts with sugar souls, screaming out laughter in anticipation of the night.

The night the vines grow up from the pumpkin patch, birthed from the shit left of a thousand tragedies, and the candles light the way for the story to be told the Ninth time.

Everything is a cycle.

- in all is all we--

Destroy Once Done