Echo-Nilida

I don't normally dream. I usually fall into the black pits that are are the backs of my eyelids, and it is merely nothingness until something grabs hold of me and pulls be back onto bright reality. However, every once in a while, that nothing becomes something, and I am there to watch it happen. The road I walk along is a familiar one, a true memory lane. I once lived on this abandoned road, and I remember how the old pavement cracks, like words etched in stone by some scribe. It leads deep into the forest, vanishing into swampland. ...it's early autumn, the leaves are turning red and gold, with soft splashes of green remaining. The air is

I’m sitting in an empty room, With a song stuck in my head, That phantom sound is all I hear, I think I may be dead. The cuts upon my wrists are gone, The pain has nearly faded. There’s blood bright scarlet on a carpet, Of white and silver braided. I’m looking in a mirror now, A girl is what I see. As pale as ice and cold as death, Staring back at me. As I sit there watching her, Looking in her eyes, “I’m looking at myself,” Is what I realize. I cannot feel my heartbeat, I guess it’s true… I’m dead. All alone in an empty room, With a song stuck in my head.