I dreamt of heaven right before hell. I fell from the sky the moment my wings began to wither, and slowly, I was spiralling. This world of mine is frozen. The air is thick. I am losing my breath, the ground is swallowing me whole. I am in a dark pit, my fears and my weaknesses clawing into me. There is no sound. No light. No familiarity. Breathing faster, my heart is racing. I am alive in this realm of dead. I am dead in the realm of my living mind.
Cue reality. I wake up, breathless. Tears are stinging my face. I am 16,000 thousand miles away from home. I am alone.
Cue realization. I can't run because I am trapped. My mind is playing tricks on me. I am suffering in the prison of myself. I know this, but my human heart finds it easier to accept the harder and easier truth from the bitter one.
Cue panic. I reach for my phone as the only means of communication and realize i have no one to call. No one to listen. I need an outlet from these dreams. I need an outlet from my disastrous mind, from the pity party.
Cue the viscious cycle. The cynical joke of human life. I am so selfish, so disguisting. Harvesting my sorrow and drowning it in. The cynical joke of how I choose to live, like an ordinary flower in a world full of paradise. I am just the perciever of all that I see, but I create illusions. I become selfish. Everything is mine, down to what I have lost. I dwell in the old photograph I have with me, burried deep in my pocket of the times I used to laugh. I'm dreaming when I'm awake. I'm dying when I'm asleep. I've forgotten when to live.