i dont fight my dreams anymore or believe i have superpowers to see beyond my days. now i flee from bed no.20 and leap from graphic-masked dragons (i blame darger), scrawling my address on a tawny bit of paper in mid-air so i can remain air-borne and not fall into the fiery flames below. i run in hills of saturated green, overturning sleeping vagabonds hidden beneath planks of lawn and come face to face with alarming giant gnomes.
i awake aching and worn everyday like a tired but happy traveller. my dreams are so far ahead of me, but they comfort me simply for a fact that they will never be real.
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