Be it the royal realms of the unbelievably embellished king poster bed; or be it the most treacherously barren slopes of the heartlessly cold-blooded rock which spat nothing but ostracizing disdain,
Be it the majestically silken cocoons of sensuously exhilarating clouds; or be it the unabashedly insect laden shores of the inscrutably rustic forest; bemoaning in the most unrelenting nights of wilderness,
Be it the compassionately invincible quilts of kingly fur; or be it the most fetidly disintegrating pavements; by the tawdrily asphyxiating gutter side; for which the entire world ended and started with the word dirt,
Be it the unassailably priceless lap of the timelessly venerated mother; or be it the most preposterously ghoulish of graveyard; from which nothing else wafted; but the intransigent curses of the lifeless ghosts,
Be it the triumphantly pristine meadow of lush green mesmerizing grass; or be it the most pugnaciously venomous battlefield of gruesome thorns; which solely led to the corpses of lecherous extinction,
Be it the uninhibitedly poignant soil profusely soaked in ubiquitously fresh rain; or be it the bawdily worthless carcasses; which indefatigably rattled with the sounds of ominously deteriorating hell,
Be it the invincibly celestial seat of the jubilantly crimson Mercedes; or be it the balustrades of bizarrely crippling uncertainty; which vengefully permeated with increasing proclivity into every bit of the atmosphere,
Be it the intrepidly regal deck of the insuperably kingly luxury ocean liner; or be it the insanely ribald premises of the soiled lavatory seat; from which emanated nothing but the stench of intolerably strangulating malice,
Be it the eternally relaxing interiors of the beautiful sofa set; or be it the sordidly spit laden streets; from which hurled nothing else but a flurry of disdainfully wretched impoverishment,
Be it the belly of the most charismatically undulating and frosty sea; or be it the hideously sweltering sands of the acrimonious desert; which indiscriminately torched everything to decrepit meaninglessness,
Be it the wings of unconquerably blessing desire; or be it the most disastrously apocalyptic path of delinquent hopelessness; which gave an infinite curses every unveiling instant,
Be it the pillow of magically ameliorating green leaves; or be it the most worthlessly castigating coffin of charcoal; which blackened not just the body; but irrevocably adulterated the soul,
Be it the victoriously breeze laden open roof-top terrace; or be it the most sinfully strangulating gallows of penurious prison; from which drifted solely the cries of the barbarously plundering demon,
Be it the spell-bindingly slow clad apogees of undefeated Everest; or be it the most ridiculously infinitesimal mole hills of the ant; which rendered fresh strength to the corridors of invisibility; every unraveling minute,
Be it the magically rejuvenating rockbed under the iridescently sparkling waterfall; or be it the sinister witch's abode; which intransigently screamed nothing but the most diabolical wails of death,
Be it the fields of flirtatiously liberated corn; or be it the most robotically disgruntled match-boxed offices of sheer manipulation; from which arose nothing else but the cries of haplessly dying vindication,
Be it the rhapsodically spongy cakes of insatiable prosperity; or be it the most stinkingly depraved carrion; upon which feasted an unfathomable number of
inconsolably sacrilegious vultures,
Be it the perennially undefeated lion's cave; or be it the miserably clammy rats den; which was inhabited by nothing else but the derogatorily rebuking spirit of
staleness,
Just doesn't matter the slightest. Because when sleep inevitably comes; it doesn't see the time; place; circumstance that you're placed in; simply and invincibly shutting your eyes to even the most evanescent consternation in the atmosphere; timelessly
ensuring that whenever you awoke; you witnessed every bit of the fathomlessly undying Universe; in the most optimistically rejuvenated and Omnipotent of light.
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