Dystopian.No.More.

Upon I laid my eyes, A tattered page that was blowing in the wind. I was surprised that these things still existed. A thicker paper, not quite like cardstock—but enough to surprisingly not be taken by the elements. The pen, an Acid-free and Archival ink—it was not faded in the Sun!! To my Surprise, a lovely Rounded corner of The—Likely, UnForgotten—Journal waved in the Wind, my All-Weather Gloves Held on Tight as I turned to Block it From The Wind.

A Date, The Year Everything began Collapsing & "The Questionable" At the Same Time.~~ I Knew It! This was the Key, who was the Writer?. A Code Suppressed—Answering None, but "Likely An Answer to Some"—Or All. A Facility Map was Hand Penned on The Back. I Knew The Penmanship. It.. Knew Something. “Sure,” I Thought. I KNew.

I was ready for something as I put it back into my pocket, “Was I something of Aim?” I Am. The only destination was to Move Forward. Without the Hesitancy of Anything—as I Moved Forward, I knew The Key was in my Pocket, closed tightly with my hand hemmed Zipper. Nothing was getting on to this. Especially, The Wylds. L0l.

I closed into The Factory: Ready to Meet some Old Friends. We always came in. No Virus. The Virus Was Of No More. Is. No More. It Fell Apart. Denied. Tattered, Long Ago. It is Always True. But The Fall of Society was New, or Something of Sort. It is a Deny. Never. A Dystopian Universe. Of No. Just Kidding, It was a Party, Every Day—an Adventure. We were the Ones Always Ready. No Injury. No Alarm. No Harm. Always Safely. For Sure.

KNOWLEDGE.

That Day, It was Stew. Tried & True. Yes. Always a Growl at the Table. Perfect Height.

So There we were, The GrandFather Clock—switched to Solar. Or Whatever to Survive.

The Blades on. A Cool Day, cooler with the Fans in The Air.

I was ready to tell all, the note found—until I heard Something at the Door—a Wyldin’. It was always never there. Transport. We figured it out from System Ahead. A Zap. It was gone. They had lost Control a Long Time Ago.

We were always safe. We Are Safe. Regardless, of the Sound of the Fan in The Air. Dare, I say—"The Blades, Yeah.”

Transport On. A Joke about the Off. And The Continued—we already Aced. A++. A Long Time, and Time, Time Ago. The Table Drop. A Heart Locket. Nahh, was it that important. Who was the Key. The Obsession. : “Yes, There it was.” Hahahaha.

<3

Through the Remark, was the Truth—the Locket Disappeared to the True Owner. The Clocked Ticked. For it was Always on. The Saviors Always Saved. It was an Inside Joke. Because we Knew Ourselves Further Far Out. Far Out Man, but not That Far Out, THAT FAR OUT. We Always Ace. Are.

A++. Regardless of The Position, Location, Etcetra. Even On The Approximate. On The Approximate--It is Always An Appropriate.

So, The Page Shown. The Secret Messages of Truth, called out the The Institution. The Guardians were already There and They were Free. Because We are of The Free.

We were off. The Ship Evaded the Explosion. There was none. There are None. For There never was—we are Safe. Forever and Ever.

My Gloves Still True—The Hidden Remained Hidden and The Universe Remained Truth. And of Course, it is Funny—The Hologram Returned to Full Picture and We Retained our Safe. As if The Dysopian Environment never Existed. We were Saner Than That. Knew What We went Through; However, Happy to See Financial Institutions back in Business and Returning to Full Health. We are Healed. Time to Get a New Card—and Figure out How to Clean up “This Society”—For We are Still One. The Hopeful. The Healed. The True. And The Locket, The Hope.

Located. Still Found. Always Returning. <3