and to meetthrough rose tinted glassthrowing emotions into blur edged vision. and to meetin the verses of a songjust to sing one last chorus. and to meetto touch fingertipsand wonder why we’re really here. and to meetto see the shape
At precisely eight fifteen tonight the world shall start to go wrong, and all the dreams that we might have shared, shall be stained by each sad song. But you could hide in my secret poem, skip across the words
and i can see howthe shrapnel of our emotionschanges the world around us. and bits get damagedas reality caves in at timesto the delusions we choose. we filter out thesynesthetic sounds of dreamsand are left with mere b/w. we become
we can see familiar facesthrough the smile shaped holes in our dreams,flitting in and out of sleep,surrounded by whispered voices and moonbeams. the skies indulge us in our little flights of fancylike kites against cotton candy clouds;soaring high above the
