I see a figure in my dreams, he blinks is rapid and coarse when he stares at me. He seems truthful, but I am not certain I should approach this visage. His workings I believe to be made of many treachery’s. I cannot make out words, he speaks too quietly for me to grasp any formations. His movements are crinkly, like a paper being wadded up and discarded.I see another in my mind’s eye, he wants to warn me of the trials to come. He tells me to run, but I can’t move a muscle. I just stare in awe, almost too captivated to want to leave. But if I do not, this may be the end of me. Can you smell the stench of death, or does it have a lavender aroma. Can you tell me before it’s too late, before I perish like the rest of the flowers?
Contributor- Chris Ballenger