Dreamer

I don't need to sleep to dream. My whole life is a dream. I'm careful not to pinch myself, because I don't want to fall into the trap of dreams within dreams. It complicates my real life. For instance the butterfly which I draw upon this chalkboard, with my crayola light-saber, might fly away and circle my head, and flap its great big wings to make a wind so strong that it would lift me from my toadstool, and blow me into the world of the waking. Or my empty room, its crystal walls so fragile and thin, may shatter should I let out the ear piercing scream which I feel building up in my gut. Let it out.. All of it, and I might simply disappear and cease my dreams altogether. What are dreams without a little denial, a little madness. In my dreams I am never some earthbound normality, never that. I am invincible, incredible, and whatever I want to be. Which is why I choose to stay here, in this place, whether you call me a nutter, a crazy lunatic, a dreamer, or not.