A dream is just a dream,
a vision of the reality your mind wants,
but can’t have.
Yet my dreams are very different from yours.
I dream of worlds of darkness.
Perhaps that’s what my mind believes in,
that I’m stuck in a world of darkness,
in need of a single light to guide me out.
But can you explain the dreams of piercing looks?
Of being left stranded?
Of being judged for being myself?
Of being broke, into smaller and smaller pieces?
But wait, I can see and hear and taste and smell and touch.
Oh wait, this isn’t a dream.
This is the world I live in.
Oh I wish it was a dream.
After all, a dream is just a dream.