As I spin and spin in the whirlpool of my dark memories my dead cells are beginning to dance and swirl. The electrons making my mass revolving around a nucleus with vigor and photons of light come in crashing into the dust of my deteriorated brain. Flashes of purple lightening and lion roaring as an extreme stimulus to my receptors waking me up from the eternal sleep I am sleeping. Eagles come gliding straight above my grey hair breaking the sound barrier they wished to break long ago when they weren’t able to. Now they can. Lava from the core of earth coming out of the mole holes diffusing into my wrinkled skin and replacing the clotted blood in my arteries. Circulate. Fungi fester themselves and transmit their core to my heart wanting me to be alive again. Every grain of sand that lies below my dead body annihilating and burning to make my frozen self vehement. Giving me life. Waiting. Waiting. A millennium has passed and I am still not alive. The earth starts to break apart and mountains begin to collapse. The avalanche of sandstorms and apocalypse enveloping me and giving me the motherly love. I am drowned and perished away ultimately. The love is so intense that my mass is crushed into granules and is converted into quarks of light. Its everywhere and I’m alive.
While in the parallel world, everything is immaculate, everything is empowering and sharp as the fresh sour drop coming out of the squeezed lemon. There are plenty books in the shelf and a whole new dimension of elaborated vocabulary to intensify my writings, I can put my feelings to words in the most petite manner. There are brushes of the right sizes and paints of the finest material. There are dreams turning into procurement and a smile amiable as honey on my parents’ faces because of me. My face has the glow of the morning sun and my lips are the strokes of concentrated red of the evening sky. My soul is the flame that brightens up your jet black agony into a crimson scintillation with Prussian blue silhouettes of triumph. I am the pride of everyone’s eyes, a fulfillment and a longing: invincible. In the real world I am the bitterness in a coffee bean, the carbon of coal. Maybe I am only made to see beauty in construction and luminosity, not knowing I am the essence of devastation and murk, a pulverized moon rock, and that irony made me beautiful.