Tell me something. Anything. Tell me that our thoughts dive in the same oceans trying to make it to the shore of, what? I don't know. Survival? Or maybe to be buried for good. At least, there they would find a mutual world where things would seem close to sanity.
Let those worms eat at their depth so that the surface would still pulsate, and maybe make it to another thought, deeper. And maybe they would dive again and finally kiss the sunlight on the surface, a deeper thought on the surface. The paradox we need.
Let them find the mutuality above. Let us connect somehow with thoughts, without getting caught. Without false accusations that we're driving the wrong ideas. Like sinners. Let us breathe into this mutuality to leave the good we could revive. And live the worse we could set right.

You slip through the tip of my fingernails into a breathless city of forsaken dreams, lost in heavy-hearted boulevards.

Wading your way into every vision; you know where to find your end in this darkness - though the light of faith is always sinking within the clouds of treason.

Shaken. Frightened; you take a step into the first alley:

A different kind of sky, agitated, and screaming buildings of terrible shape carrying angry dreams of the poor, having one scene in common: a just life in the eyes of the decayed..

At ease, you carry the most horrifying and reach the end light, escaping the most saddening colors to get to a city where black is an alienated vision.

The greenness and the free air paint a pure blue sky at daylight, and a barely cerulean view at night. A sun that kisses the moon with its amber light at dusk, and a bird that sings of no defeat. A still life, a surreal piece.

But dreams? You're almost through without a thing in your pocket, only miserable ones of the needy.

while at the gates of the city you find yourself soaked in another alley, of the starving and the severely brokenhearted. You beg your feet to move, but hungry skies hold you captive, pour their nation's dreams and free you; drunk on semi-dreams, semi-nightmares.

And then you pull yourself back to me, asphyxiated by dreams and pleading for my words to say it all, to save you.

But my pencil, it shivers.

And their dreams, they hold up, for the moment to rise.

Written August 3rd, 11:53 PM.

Image Source

Explore,
Like a blurry photo
sometimes you have to focus on the blurred parts rather than the clear image.

Here

Their thoughts are like poison 

rooted in the depth of their minds

blossoming rot, only to

Paint pathetic smiles

Every word comes out as if

someone's pulling the trigger

with their ignorance

To shoot your ideas

Didn't they tell us you could not kill an idea?

Let's just eradicate their rivers

And although our oceans are salty

Nothing looks unoriginal than 

A beautiful stream

With no depth

At all.

Tell me what you didn't dream about. Tell me that your colors in reality never made it to your dreams. Tell me about...things that never happened, like you flying over my empty space to deliver a letter saying you're my hero. My savior.

Or, talk to me about the things you always wanted to embrace in your dreams yet your imagination wasn't vivid enough, or never did your subconscious have space for big dreams.

Tell me that the you in dreams isn't the same I know. Maybe. Just maybe, we'd synchronize our dreams and meet up in sleep; a different you and another I. And we'd sit there somewhere in the middle of your thoughts and the chaos of my mind. A place where we'd fall into wordlessness without needing human interaction.

Surprise me with your undreams, your non reality, that thing in between, the thing you want in life and never have in dreams. Everything you really wanted and never had the courage to fight for.

Everything that makes you cower from life.

Tell me more, tell me..

Written 9:53 PM. Today.

Credit here