Open the book,
read the climax,
there are no pictures;
only a black and white conclusion that fits together like a puzzle.

Breath in the fiction,
and shape dreams around those fantasies;
Gobble up all of the perfection.
Reach the top of the mountain,
just to realize that nothing like that would ever happen.

Lids closed,
imagination hopeful for a brand new world.
A fairy godmother
(or a genie),
offers a few precious wishes.
Deep inside the midst of a subconcious
lies true desires and the lust for utter bliss.

Eyes open,
disappointment hits the stomach,
an empty sigh fills the dark room,
finally: silence.

Reality causes heartbreak,
it is loneliness in a crowded room,
or hiding tears with laughter.

Inside of a heartshaped locket
that lies on top of a beating chest
softly swaying;
secrets hide away.
Maybe those secrets will be shared someday or maybe they will ruin everything.

Return to soft pillows and warm sheets,
Talk of nightmares turn dreaming from an escape to a last resort.

Other things cause fear to erupt;
A volcano that seeps liquid fire.
For children
It is walking past a dark van,
Or the monsters under the bed.
Once maturity blossoms,
The monsters move from under the bed
To inside the soul.
It is a disease that you do not notice
Until it eats you alive.

It turns best friends against you,
And trust becomes dust.
So where does that lead?

When growing stops,
Sleep is precious.
Dreams are never remembered,
And reality is just how it is.
Deal with the pain,
Numb it with bitter feelings and regret.

I guess growing up is just
Procrastinating the tears,
Until hurt no longer exists
And only emptiness remains.