we are defined by what we wish for.
can't you see what you wish for, dream for is a protest to reality?

Dreams are like snowflakes,
each surreal, cold and solitary,
finding no match in one another
like light patterns on midnight walls.

Funny how even though it's ours,
it's never truly is ours to catch.
You played a part, found a life in dreams.
Just like an actor, living a life on a stage even though it's not his.

So what do we do when we want to live in one?
Just like a protest we march in dreams,
singing chants against real life
against reality that suits no one.

What do we do?

comfy.

I remember thinking how oblivious children can be to the chaos and mayhem around them,
finding simple pleasure from finding a mushroom, skipping a step or seeing a bubble float.
It's scary to think in a matter of years, they'll remember nothing of the feeling.

How easy it can be for a whole world, for a child, can be shattered in a blink of an eye.

people say the eyes are the window to the soul,
I believe the gate is the face.
Your journey is scratched onto it, your tears, your laughs,
frowns and all, it's all been there and most definitely,
they will come back. They made us, they made the world around us.
The gate reflects the whole demesne.

memento mori.

crystalline.

When the numbness is through with you,
You and all your hearts, swear to god you feel nothing, swear to graves you want nothing and
still the prick of the single thorn brought you back squealing to the ground screaming again and again.

Wail and cry and scream and shout you’ve covered all
only finding what you want gone is the start of it all

Open your closed eyes child, your wish is done your arms are cut. Sleep child without feeling,
sleep child in your rocky tomb of glass. Sleep and be gone.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” -Friedrich Nietzsche