Our hero’s journey:

Through the tendril woven plane that hums at night, and keeps him up late

Down the howling hollow cobble path - they say it’s haunted at night

Gulp the fog, listen for his laugh, then it’s gone

Cross the mossy tree trunk

- Don’t look down –

Where the rabbit hole falls to abyss

Where the shoots burst into flames

Licking at wounds or offering a kiss

I revel in delusions of swords across my back; lapses of time; superimposing

Why can’t you be part of my fiction too?