Dreams are stupid.

I dont mean the

"I have a dream"

or 

"my dream is to be a";

I mean the

"last night I dreamt"

and the

"I had the best dream".

I couldn't care less about your

meaningless brain activity

random pieces of reality

nonsensical somatical impulses.

We are fascinated with our own

electricity

as if they are

reality.

But I know it's just your human body brain blood.

There is no supernatural fantasy at work.

It means nothing that

I consistently have dreams about

a dystopic-apocalypse

where I'm running away,

where my loved ones die,

where my city is broken.

It means nothing that

all these episodes are always

consistently linked, overlapping, that

the system is broken

and we have to build from scratch.

They’re not nightmares, I think

but they’re not happy dreams.

they’re laced with despair

and helplessness,

with longing

and loneliness.

I see men in uniform, and it no longer matters what side

their weapons blindly firing, feeding, fucking.

I see beasts that growl in every language but mine

overthrowing their chains only to attack their brothers.

I see burning buildings with the smoke of corpses

that never had the hope of escaping, the only light they saw

was their death.

And then I wake up.

And I brush my teeth.

And I get dressed.

And I skip breakfast.

And I go to school.

Because it's pointless.

And when I lay down again,

lead to believe I am safe under covers,

I know dreams tell me nothing

I haven't already known.

My mom would tell me it probably has something to do with

how stressed out I am

all the time,

and she’s probably right.

I hope.