Profane Esoteric

I’m panning out the to-do list here and I guess I am almost done with it. Meticulously, I wrote a short story in my head while cooking.

You have to know, that the sun has set, summer has died and winter is postponed. All that you know will come crashing down on you, your physical embodiment is no longer what it is. You are alienated and foreign,  you are lost in this menagerie you once thought was a home. An incoherent lullaby, sang as the world dissolves. Slowly, your cadavers, everything on you, rot away in sudden erosion. You slick fantasy with time and eternity died along, all that is left is your morbid fascination to your death, an erotica, you may call it, aphrodisiac. Ever crashed awake from a dream of a nap on the bus and felt the world was going to end, but realise everything’s alright?

So you have to know the world has set, auspices and vagaries have died,  your verbose life is put on hold. You never have and never will understand what is going on here.