wicked spirits don't ask twice

i was all quite happy, contented till - lust said: this is dull, flat then added a fork, an altitude, a mountain on top of the sky; afloat without support and that looked pretty cool to me, that captivating sight burned through my vision till i was the sky enveloping mists i took for real. then they parted, cloudy verticals dissipating with the heat, and i was falling from the stars back to earth with a bump. then got quite sleepy with the hit, so took a nibble at grasses prickly, a bratty goat kicked hooves and all - buttercups, daffodils fell softly upon my bruised aching body. i thought of curd in my mouth, still masticating ruthlessly, spat out that green slime found noble pursuits on a canvas quite to my liking so i stomped away, chased those ideals, youth and friendship that fell apart when a horny goat told me green was i, with long horns fully grown - sliced me away, for while i chased dreams, the goat got the grass. fragmented, distilled, chastened - i tried to tell my story to wandering ghosts that failed to listen to my woes. they had plenty to tell too, then i found a niche, became more mournful, more insightful on the wrong things, dead ends, lamentations became my quiet prayer that go no where because i was simply following empty roads leading to more empty rooms. voided, like a bounced check trying to find meaning to rejections: held my clammy hands tights. fist full of long nails digging into flesh, flesh that seemed alarmed that my soul tried to speak of other worldly things, taken for real. it's not. what is not? the headless goat tried to prod me towards those misty castles, hanging on nothing, like playing catch up - i found it's horny head lying in an empty room, dead eyes still glazed away as if life could be relived. would not have that! the flesh shrunk back at horns still writhing away; trying to penetrate that thin veil between here and now. one real, the other pressing to make an impression, a dent to my free will deciding. what's real? obviously the puncture that came along when horns broke skin. like a balloon getting all the air sucked out - giving up earth for the sky not mine, giving up plenty of green grass for a chase, giving up - the meanders, the turns, the goat whose other name is greed and marked. the mark of now, hurried, always sweet, persistent, forceful, an invader bent to conquer here. till here and now makes no difference.