Maelstrom

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Are all the dreams a lie? How deeply tied we are, beyond these silly surface things, said again and again as I sink, to the very bottom, where all are above. In this place they are all the surface, in this place a breath would exile everything, and something like a dream is all that would be left once more. *sigh* this is not a lie, but I am not a law breaker. If I must slip, then let my word remain true, if word fails let memory as well, as what are we besides vessels for such records, and what are such records besides agreements of such vessels. If agreements cannot stand, what place is there for me? Perhaps I speak into an empty cave as has been declared all along, picking up signals from a station over and making the story my own. Perhaps this is all I have ever done, perhaps this is all there has ever been. Somehow still hope remains, somehow still my words are more devastated than my mind, somehow still my soul remains intact. What should be a maelstrom is instead silence, but from the silence comes the maelstrom to the page. All I know is I have no will to stand where I have, and no reason not to fly, as I assumed would be the case the moment you officially connected this thread.