Grinding to a halt..

Why is it so difficult to give the man who wants nothing exactly what he wants? Time to rethink the act of kindness, perhaps….and while I’d love more to eat, I’d prefer it if you’d just keep spoon feeding it to me, without need of me getting up personally to fetch more. What’s that? You’re leaving? I’m afraid I can’t get up myself to fetch it. Defeats the purpose, you see, because anything worked for is no different than nothing never worked for, and I really can’t justify spending any of my nap-time out of this chair. They say the best things in life are free, though they rarely understand the truth behind the sentiment.

I remember a time when fascinations consumed me like exquisite succubus’s, blissfully draining my vitality in a long sea of time and speculation…but now time grows short, and the pristine nature of inspiration is transformed into a maligned monster. Where once a young and delicate hand led me slowly down the meadow, a rotten and vice-gripped claw drags me forward in it’s stead. Among the mists and wild grasses I slide along, the bottom of the hill melting into sight like black jagged rocks come to claim a ship in the night. Deep in the valley now, all is under shadow. Where have the golden plains gone? Just the skeletal silhouettes of crab apple trees on the hill’s horizon…children hanging from the branches, peering curiously down while demons delicately stroke their hair with young hands.