I Am A Dreamer.

I hate the rush of the morning breeze, that hits me in the face when I wake up.

And I hate it even more as it gives me the realisation that I'm back in the land of the none believers.

And most of all,
I hate fighting against the will to run from this reality.

Dreamers are not where they want to be, just like me:
They are peaceful in their homeland,
Eyes shut, painting with their brushes on a diamond-cut canvas
Using the imagination of their tribal hearts;

Capuring the found pieces before they're lost forever.
Where love is easy, and mistakes can be erased,
Back to the days when simple multiplication wasn't second nature.

We float in the skies of our own made-up world,
In bubbles cast creamily with cloud-dust and where graffiti is nothing but art.

And in the nocturnal night, I'm passing the boundaries in the starry sky,
And I'm hovering, wings on my heels, like Hermes, flitting by.
And here anything is possible, for belief, gives faith, and love, and need.

Here, I'm looking down at the tasks which lie ahead,
In the days pressing even more coursework deadlines, external exams, and where I try to kill my physics book;
To be fair, it's not the prettiest of all sites.

As the alarm clock beeps, starting awake, I feel the pulse inside me stutter,
The low groan in my throat,
Blood inside my veins travels the wrong way, and I'm choking on my terrifying reality.

As I crash feet-first down to Mother Earth,
I'm scraping up the sliding walls of the atmosphere, perspiration sliding my fingers down, down. Legs frantic, finding a foothole.
And my nails are tearing apart the atoms that hold you and me together.
But I don't wanna leave, not yet.

I Wimper, 'This is not where I want to be.'
For I am a dreamer, who knows of a better place.