One day I woke up and the skies were purple streaked with gold. I looked and the buildings were burning, and at the tops I could see people jumping, flying and falling, silhouetted against the flames. Poured myself a drink of water, cold water black as night that sucked the warmth out of everything around it, and as I drank it I could feel myself dying, minute by minute and hour by hour. Down the street I hear music playing, guitars crashing against drums, chords that I heard once and can't quite remember now. I wish I could be back there, back in that place when I heard the tune for the first time, a place when everything seemed safe and known, but now I'm floating in a sea of ink, clutching onto pieces of paper that float by and trying to find the land, trying to find the light somewhere in the murk. And it's funny because I thought I'd found it, once, but I let it get away, or it ran away from me, or maybe it just faded away like things do. I guess it doesn't matter, but it sure is funny. I just can't quite seem to find the laughter.
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