I had the attitude of the Mariner,
the golden hair of the Human Torch,
and my abs were covered by Indiana Jones' shirt.
I was the opposite of a cur.
I was dreaming.

I walked into the labyrinth, exclusively opened only for me,
I explored the magnified quartz caves,
And pocketed priceless synthetic ROY G. BIV diamonds.
As I exited with my treasures, the Press intercepted me.
A petite female with a camera snapped a pic,
And an abrasive male with an evil snicker peered into the labyrinth.
I made the lady show me her pictures so I could check to make sure my labyrinth would be safe.
The recording on the camera played back a dream within a dream.
Meanwhile, the man stole my hyacinth.
It was all somewhat real.

It was all a metaphoric tale.
My searching of the caves is me wanting my life that used to be.
The women filming was my mother trying to preserve memories.
My brother (portrayed from my point of view) was the male.
And the dream within a dream were all my precious memories.