Minds are like suit jackets, they all require just the right tailor

I am frightening myself in broad daylight
this is not a lucid dream
which I have come to control so effortlessly and
paddle through with the tick tick ticking of time to spare
It is not the nighttime intervening
nor is it blurred lines
lines in the sand drawn in fits of laughter only
to be obscured by the suck of the oceans hideous bowel
turning our sniggers into howling cries

I am too aware of that
My dreams, ideals and notions are changing
they are morphing and tumbling
Their colours are intermingling and
now they seem but a muddy mess of
browns and beiges turning black and
suddenly red like a shotgun slug
passing through my gut at the speed of light
suddenly red like the supple skin of my thigh
adjusting shades after your snappy hand willed it to be so

Now everything is crimson
and I am crying because

I am not who I thought I was but

perhaps something better….

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