2In a place where night was all that could be,
And where Fridays were not at all special.
The cold air wrought a strange dark purple hue
To his odd ego as he cursed the stars
In a place where the stars could never be.
It was really their absence he despised,
And his strangely lucid nightmares told him
That absence was the only thing he knew.
The thinning air choked his desperation.
He looked to the sunset of the far East
In a place where the sun was but a dream,
And the curfew of infinity rang,
Damning all chance of certain direction.
There was no East and no sunset for him,
And he cursed those things as they were not real.
It was really their absence he so loathed,
And he wished only that his fantasies
Could become the stone of reality.
He knew, with great regret, that they would not.
He opened his eyes and glanced at brown walls
In a place where love was intangible,
And all the things that made those walls his home
Were unreal, mere shadows of memory.
This place was not strange, and all its secrets
Were nothing but common knowledge to him.
He despised those secrets for their absence.
He left that place with his strange, dark ego,
And he took to the shadows of the sun.
In his strange world, night was all there could be.
He left the day behind in the sad knowledge
That nothing would change when he would return.
He came home, went to sleep, and then he dreamed.
It was a cold and lonely Saturday.