land of the imaginary

It's like clockwork I wake up, I eat, I sit and do nothing Do nothing while the weight of the world sits on my shoulders bending my back into a “C”  With the hands of the clock, the cycle repeats I wake up, I eat, I sit and do nothing Do nothing while I watch thoughts of overwhelming despair bulldoze over my defenseless brain  Do nothing while I live as an inactive participant within a semi-active body   But for 7 or 8 sweet hours, this wretched repetition is broken While I lay my head and shut my eyes, and feel them sink down, down, down into the darkness I enter somewhere where banality has no place I fall perpetually I meet someone I am fated to love I run from monsters I save the world I live within a tantalizing plot: exposition, climax, resolution and all I crave this nefariously beguiling world  In which the most chilling horrors and most satisfying fantasies lie beside each other In which my regularly achy bones move swiftly to the commands of a fresh and unperturbed mind,  alive  The vitality of this incomprehensible world is what colors in the gray of ordinary life The innovations of our world are but products of these dreams Manifestations of odd thoughts that linger into the back of the mind and simmer until they explode at nighttime when the body is slumbering  So, maybe, one day, after a terrifically odd dream I’ll wake up, I’ll eat, I’ll sit and I’ll do something

This poem is about: 
Me
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