What is real and what is not?
There is not one being who is certain,
Though many claim to have the knowledge.
With wide eyes and eager faces,
Much like a hypnotist learning the trade,

Sometimes I am sleeping
While I am still awake-
My mind travels to far-off lands,
Abandoning its lesser counterpart.
I enter the realm
Where all things are possible,

I huddle alone
In the Darkness,
Alone, but not Lonely.
Sometimes, I Dream
You will come for me.
But I know
You have your own Dreams
And your own Savior.
What keeps me company
Is the thought that perhaps
I will be someone's Savior, too.

I would write about the concept of human,
But the words feel filthy on my tongue-
Sand and grit grinding between my teeth,
Lodged in my gums,
Being forced down my throat.

I think I might have been a mollusk,
Long ago and far away.
Basking in the beauty of the ocean,
Needing no purpose-
Simply existing...
Until, one day, someone sought me out.

The light above my head glows a hazy purplish-grey,
When the rest are all universal pink.
Every once in a while,
The grey light buzzes and flickers,

Love is neither fact nor fiction.
It exists as we all exist:
An essence in a bloated world,
Hidden between the first hoagie
And the last cream puff.
Who can remember
Exactly where it was,

This is not a teenaged poem.
I do not know life, I do not know love.
I am not afraid to admit I know nothing.
Nothing, after all, is better than everything.

If I were God, there would be no mercy.
All rain would be acid,
And lovers, walking hand in hand on a cloudy afternoon,
Would shriek as the drops of fire
Descended upon them.

The third lung heaves and sighs.
It gasps and writhes,
Filling with blood
That it quickly releases
To prevent a watery grave.

It is never empty,
And never full.
With walls of elastic,

Amid the wavering bluebells
And the thickets of long blades
With their heavy coats of dew,
I amble slowly,
Caring neither about time nor space.

The wind guides me,
Softly pushing me