dreams

about the time that i was old enough to turn

babbles into

cohesive sentences,

dreams of mine began to churn,

encapsulated in the hours of sleep.

for each dream i had

gave me a taste of a life I could never reach.

however hard i tried

in the morning i would wake up,

just as i have every morning before,

knowing dreams will always remain dreams, and the

love i feel with them will

melt with the fading of sleep.

now the

onset of night is upon my world again, and the

people i meet only in dreams are waking from their

quiet sleep,

restless and

searching for adventures that day can’t compare

to with its monotony of routine in consciousness. so

under the pale moon, i wait for the

very dreams that make

waking impossible, a brain suffering from

xerosis, where the saving moisture is light

years away, in a dream that i have

zero ways of living.