My dreams are in a peach orchard, a rain-garden, touching a face I can't have, she is pretty, tears through the hurtful silence, time is running out, the hollow words and horses for me, how I love to watch them run, I have shared everything, you know what hurts my heart, and you know what is unbearably sad to me, my identical self far away in a big city that she is conquering, I love you, even though we both know that all the beautiful things are gone, and most people spend their entire life in this hatred, they hate me, and they hate you, and it's sad how it lives inside of them, how it festers and destroys everything it colonizes and infests, weeping in their lonely sorrow, it's like slime mold, defeating each maze, and the yellow veins of a poisoned artery before they burst into orange bullet casing shards, slime mold is one of my most favorite things in the whole world, I love it, it's perfect, it has an unbelievable intelligence, and most of you reading this will never know how beautiful the world is or how beautiful I am, glasses an all, I feel sorry for you, and I am sorry that you hate me.