When I was a child, I used to go to sleep, in the darkness.
And I would wake up, in the middle of the night.
And I could see everything.
Looking at the Shadows on my stucco ceiling...
I could see how the small demons danced, as cars came by, and Illuminated them.
I heard the thunderous Roar of Hell, ready to take me, whenever the freight train came by.
And the clouds...
They never looked quite right.
I thought something might force me up there, take me away, forever.
Instead,
I spent most of my time safely locked in the basement.
Welcome.
Recline on one of our couches, upholstered in the finest silk we could have, imported from the Orient.
Take your pipe, filled with quality Afghan Poppy, and imbibe, while you listen to our house poets take you to transcendent realms with their words.
Should you feel so bold, feel free to pen a poem, or short story here, while you are under the beautiful duress of the midnight's oil.
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