I had a dream. The dream wasn’t pleasant. The dream was not a nightmare, I wasn’t scared. The dream was not a place or time, it was a dream. The dream was a version of myself in twisted ways, either physically, or maybe that represented the space around. Maybe it was the lighting, but I had a feeling it was more than that. There was a sense of dread, whether with or without the fear, and the absence of danger. There was no dread, only peace in a broken illusion fragmented by woe. Woe is not my friend, she is not yours, nor does she exist either both or neither. Woe had a smile, and Woe was when she existed. Woe was not sad, nor distressed, she was simply there to exist in a circle that defies your mind and your logic. She resides within me.
Woe had long hair, unkempt and messy, but due to her own self because she could not care. Woe had distress, from the first touch and the first thought, and then from the raindrops that littered a clear glass pane. Woe could be the sun, for as much as she is the moon, she should not be seen as such. She wasn’t sad, nor was she happy, but she drowned all the same in a bottomless pit that was not water or air. She knew all the lyrics to nine songs that ring a bell like the grandfather clock that haunts her from the corner of her world. She knows the sound of a dog. She is a dog, there for all, there for nothing.