The smell of frozen liquid,
And the lame cold winter days.
I've spent so many upon this very same machine,
Moving my fingers,
Typing words about my dreams,
About what I want to be.
And then,
One day,
Out of lets just say many,
I get up,
I walk outside my house and make something of myself.
I remember what it's like to live.
What it's like to love life.
I keep whispering to myself telling me,
"This is reality.
This is all your gonna be"
But then I strike myself at the very core,
At the very center of my being, Where everything began.
I strike myself with guns of lyrics, of song,
Of pure talent, and wit.
Oh, how I love myself sometimes.
Staring at my uneven,
Sketchy reflection,
I shoot myself,
aiming straight for the soul.
"Nothings reality. Not you, not the love you feel.
Nothing you know amounts to anything beyond your particle soul.
Your atomic heart.
Reality is simply something that exists.
Something that exists when you dream."
Oh, then I smile gently.
For I've dreamt for so many beautiful things.