I dream of death.
I dream of a lot of things.
Faint memories when I awake dance in my head.
Threads pulling me through each day.
Spoken words hardly touch my ears, but skim the surface.
Words dances in my brain.
Thoughts that bring me back to life, but kill me again.
I look up to the blue sky and wonder why.
Why can't we be perfect?
Why do our brains just tear us down?
Then I look across the sky at the floating clouds passing by.
Then I remember it was never us, but them the evil things.
The ones who hold the pogo stick controlling our world, because we let them.
We say we can do nothing, but isn't that what's giving them reign?
I understand there are somethings that are out of our control.
But still somethings we don't dig up could be something we could change.