I wish my dreams were real life.

I could escape the monotony of

vagueness and opaque humans.

At least in my dreams

the colors are so vivid

I can taste them.

There are no games

just action and thought.

I grow tired of the

simplicity of human behavior,

luke warm hearts

and sepia toned minds.

Life is a masterpiece,

or at least how

I imagine it.

Birthed in fire,

soaked in desire

and lead by passion.

Days eclipse.

Nights dance.

Intertwined.

Reality and realization.

My dreams anchor me.

I go to sleep praying,

thanking Mary for her

company and guidance,

pleading with her to

show me the spirit world,

to open the door to the

labyrinth of magic

and let my first world

welcome me home.

These dreams, meant only for me,

sate my hunger for truth

and light my path for the

days yet to come.

My past lives thrive in this second

dimension, hinting at wisdom,

whispering lessons.

Past and future lovers reside there,

with open arms and steamy kisses.

Friends of yester year

visit me, cry with me.

The Moon sheds more light

than the Sun could ever hope to.

Oh, such a splendid world

I live in.

But when I awake,

faint memories, slightly touchable,

haunt my undead mind.

I am alive when Moon shadows

slither and creep,

when stars twinkle.

My mind is borderless.