Sparkatale

He's fallen from the fabrics
Fallen away from this supposed reality
Away
Away from the world
He watches the threads separate and he falls through the flaw of fabrication.

So many different colors create the black that is our dark
So many different colors leave to create the light we so treasure
Then do we all prefer our imagery black and white,
Or is it just
That our eyes
Portray this as simple illusion?

Help him see
See beyond this
Fabrication
Help him to see
What is real
He's fallen away from the world
He's tangled in the threads of lies
He's bound by the gray threads of illusion
And by these threads, shall he die?

But then he finds that he does, too, unwind
Nothing but a piece of wearing thread upon a nearly empty spool
To be used
Pulled
Torn
Created
And finally
Destroyed
So then he must be purely fabrication, too.

And so he closes his dulling eyes
He separates from one fabrication to another and he finds
They are nothing but the
Same...

And so he feels himself pulled apart string by string
Unwinding slowly
Suffering
Dying
Wondering
When...
Oh, when...

So he falls away from fabrication
So he finds that when he falls from this illusion
He falls away from
Himself
As well...

Purely fabrication...
Poor fabrication...

The quilts of so many dreams...
All just
Fabrication...