MY Tibetan New Year

My heart beats aflutter. There is some fear that is unidentified. The rabid squirrel in my dreams did not help. Stay calm and I will quell the sea for you and I both. Olive Garden awaits. I feel sad underneath. Pulling at me and drawing my blood is the vampiric ones in the darkness. Moonbeams scream that it should be spring, but it is merely a mirage. I will not be touched in this space as the place changes from cube to square. People annoy as I try to clear a boy of the darkness. The Dalai Lama rests in this village and burns all of the quanset huts. His Tibetan New Year outside of India is showing that the man can speak English, just fine, without an accent. Keep your telepathy at bay from his sway or you will hear him every day. I am here, and it is clear, that this is MY SPACE. Dalai, you must find your own place. HERO you are not. Deceit is your disease.