Younger dreams of yesteryears haunt my world. They come to me, calling. I hide underneath the blanket of darkness, afraid to close my eyes. I dare not peek, for I know they can see me.
Closing my eyes to one is opening into another. Life is an aftermath, like a consequence for the sins of my father. The tragedy of birth points to a grave; suffering ends with hope. The death choir goes on as we hum along in silence to the morbid tunes of existential bliss.