Dreamscape
Must be a false awakening this cannot be. on one shoulder, a shackled self in a fetal position, full of meshed stones, on the other, dancing butterflies fleeting towards a blue sky This is not happening. it is not real, this exhausted angel drooped over a headstone. Exhales of frustration in one cracking, leave me alone, while inside waves of hellos and goodbyes bursting, into little bubbles of whys. A colossal geyser pushing its self, through narrowing aqueducts, into two little pinpricks of welling eyes. Awakening again, to one last tear rolling down a face Parched reddened eyes begin to squint. Inhaling like it was your last breath. Silence, then fiery mingled flocks of birds, screaming towards the sky, with a heartbroken war cry The whys become bargaining chips and a stern poker face, with varying suites of the lowest cards but it was called by the most high, so you try to sleep and go back, to the first dream Walking for miles in this sleepless dream, coming to a crossroad of acceptance. Reliving is not living and nobody wanted this, for those that are there and those that have gone. Happiness will come again but not surreal like a grief strickened dream
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