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The breeze slowly picks up as the dreamer sat at a stand still with reality and illusion. The warm colors reflection drowns with the sun under the vast sea of hill tops. Eyes wondering, mind racing, body in a state of nirvana, and the sun six feet under as the moon with its peaceful glow, gradually rises in triumph and glory. What was once darkness gracefully glows with street lights and houses.
The breeze turns into a timid tug as the dreamer’s clothes and hair sway gently in the arms of the wind. The moon light, gleaming with caring serenity in the eyes of the one who is perched on a rock, over looking a great distance of hilltops, street lights, and rooftops. The same one who ponders peers, fears, and tears as they are laid down on a fictitious plate, waiting to be devoured by a piece of mind, with a fork of sense, reason, and a seamlessly open willingness and imagination. Taking everything in, pieces almost too big to swallow, the body once lost in nirvana retires from its perch on a rock and drifts wearily into a never ending, trail of concrete.
The dim golden lights come and go with every passing step as the dreamer descends down a steep endless path of weak lights projecting from poles upon a ground of gray. Head turned down with a vacant stare, almost symbolic and synchronized with the deception that the brain burrowed itself into. The breeze turns cold as the air all around thickens with misery and fate. The gentle arms of the breeze violently turn into rapped pushes and punches. The moon, straight over head watching the dreamer step by step. The air around gets strained with the grey smoke of the winds last cigarette. Stumbling and swaying, the dreamer walks through the concrete jungle known as a makeshift suburbia.
Head still fixed on the ground under him with eyes set in a idle, finally making it to the retreat known as home. He makes his way to the things that made his life pretty, putts it up to his lips and just like a momentary lapse in time, reality and ultimate reason slaps him in the face as a tender smirk shows on his face, while he pounds down the last of his sanctuary and beauty paste down his ugly, beaten throat. All through his darkened retreat the wind could be heard, beating on all the walls, pushing around, egging him on. A flicker of fragile and shy light from his lighter tries to escape, as it starts running off the walls and bolting through hallways, but not being completely successful in its attempt, as the dreamer sparks up his only rehab for the down spiral of life. Up in smoke, that’s where the trouble goes, and on the floor the body of the dreamer plummets with his legs, absent of their balance. His vision weakens and gets out of focus by the time he gets to his way out and rests it comfortably in his hand like it was rehearsed. Getting up to his knees and posting up in front of the transparent section of the wall, the dreamer is in a blank trance, gazing eye to eye with the moon. Repeating his last thoughts on paper and through the somber disarray of his mind, he puts his way out into his mouth. With one last glimpse of the moon that’s looking on helplessly, he releases what lies hidden in the dark chamber of last resort. All of his memories, fears, reasons, and things lost and hidden from everyone scatters with the blink of an eye to the walls that surrounded him. His body with no control crumbles backward and finds its place on its back.
The dreamer’s eyes permanently opened and fixed on the moon, which now seemed to shed a tear as it stoop down into the darkness of night in depression. The dreamer’s very last thoughts and memories slowly slip through his pours, until his body ultimately turns as pale, and cold as the violent hands of the wind.
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