This world is begining to feel all too real.
A two dimensional time span.
The sidewalks crumble from beneath my feel, Canyons of covers hide underneath.
The trees are ablaze; I am all alone, I am Found and grown.
These turquoise gardens grow out through my ears, and my spine has turned crooked from bending all these years.
I can see people moving today, but in their heads, screenplays of unwanted memories, a beautiful shade of red.
All work, no play, like cement dripping cautiously on a hot sunny day.
The worms are backwards and worry on their way, so I offer a sandstorm, but they have nothing left to say.
And again, I am Blank.
Sheets of paper for that I thank.
The light is growing thicker, and my Thoughts running quicker,
A sudden crash, steep cliffs at last, and finally you are Home.
You are not real.
And finally, you Feel.