Stream Of Consciousness (Or Thoughts of a Dying Surrealist)

The eyes gaze blindly
as the silent voice echoes through the tumult
the hateful embrace of the loving foe
brings tears of indifference to my eyes

What is this?

The creatures hiss in their comfort
and the blazing cold shatters the chaos
my mind rustles passively
as the wind gusts away into the blizzard

Why does this happen?

The strangers sleep in their excitement
the scent of God whispering in the gloom
I stand on the shore of Purgatory
and whisper deafeningly to my ghost

Who are you?

The dreamers cry joyously
Their blissful pain cascading down from the universal caldera
Revelling in the beautiful misery
I waltz upon the ashes, with the memories of dead thoughts

How can this happen?

They gather around the freezing fire
The Earthly garden shimmering with their charred faces
I am excluded in the midst
and stand, a humble deity,
beaming tempestuously upon all I have ignored.