no Surprises in birthdays

It's been hanging on the wall again, two eyes just shining there in the fog like cold, sapphire skulls. No one ever took it down because the consequences of forgetting were the loss of an entire world, every world that has ever been. I heard some one say that it's a snake by now. Is that true? Are there fangs in place of teeth? Dear?

"The end is coming, isn't it?" Says the prophet. He's been trying to retire; no one listens, and the book is skewed from madness. I watched him sit there for awhile and I knew that he had lost himself in his mind again. I could almost see the torrent of thought envelope him like the waves did Atlantis. Lost forever, just bubbles coming up in between murky water and salty froth.

"No end, no end, no end." He told me once that the problem with reality is that there are no definite endings. Everything is only half of an end, some sort of awkward mix between seeming to end and having no real resolution to every thought. Looking back, I don't think he ever told me, but I know for a fact that he had thought about telling me using those words. His thoughts were sketched on the wall. I could see them coming towards me like car lights down a road. A warning or a hello or a goodbye, depending on your situation.

It's happened before. Glitches almost. I don't know what to do, no one ever knows because there's no answer. The older you get the more you know about there being no answers, at least not one. It's all freeform.

He's getting tired. I can see it in his eyes. They stare forward but they're stuck in his head. I feel helpless. Tonight I plan on tearing every mask on the wall down. I plan on taking them off in his sleep and burning them all, then throwing salt on them. Demons from the past and all. The last thing he said to me meant nothing.

His words, they're all shells. He's trying to build a beach and he knows it's bullshit.