04 September, 2012


What is real?
Sometimes life is, and
sometimes not.
Time isn't real, nor is sleep.
Real is what I've got-
at least, so I think.
I do not sleep to dream.
Sleep is a dream, and
nothing more.
Do I love it? Hate it?
Long for something true?
I can touch it, taste it,
but never can I own it.
Time skips and jumps
and slips by unnoticed.
Life is unreal,
like a storm with no rain,
an ocean with no waves.