Forewards You talk youself in daydreams...tell youself that you a match for all the shit that fate might stab you with...then again "fate" one those metaphysical dirty wards...inspirational absurdity. So people write and lie to you in dreams...they tell you yo in heaven and remembered...then you see god across his desk, pictures of his saints along the edge and dogmas like diplomas framed on walls. Then down you go...you must crouch to reach your world, that world of dreams that you been dreadin an you must read the the underbelly underwards of what was written underneath...yo thoughts and feels ooze between the toes of wards that scratch their backs beneath the rocks of memories. You wake and you are here again and there is sorrow...you are wishing for a dream already lost...strechin out a pain unbearable and of this sorrow you are full.. but yo dreams you not so full you cannot swallow a little sorrow, swallow a little crow, swallow a little pride...