Note on the bottom

You are discovering all the truths too late.

Walking aimlessly in your self absorbed haze.

I am seeing the marks being made and the ways that I was not meant for certain oatmeal cookie diagrams.

Phone calls are meaningless and voice mails echo long distant paths unrelentlenting whispers.

I am marking a specific day to revel in my own spirit...pointing at the faces of those unlucky few that step through fate's door onto this porch.

The sheer wind cutting through my body, the effortless cascade of flesh into slumber. And the searchlights.

Note in the bottom says, "emancipated from the terror."