the air is failing,
I'm tucked inside and
suffocating within lost things
imagined things
there's such a crowd of ghosts
in my head
they're people who were never people
apparitions, actors,
wearing familiar masks,
playing out dark scenarios
with quiet thirst.
my brain is conducting
a parade of beautiful shit.
it pays no mind to what's real
or expected or even possible.
what the dream desires
the waking mind fabricates.
what the nightmare fears
the waking mind produces.
fuck you, waking mind.