What is it about staring through a window of a moving vehicle that makes it so dramatically surreal. Maybe the window represents a barrier between reality and dreams. Our thoughts hiding deep in the sky waiting to be plucked from the clouds. Knowing that once you stop gleaming into this portal of innate consciousness you have to either take flight to your dreams and aspirations and take hold of life's ultimate achievability of happiness. Or be content with reality and remain behind the pane of glass that gave you a glimpse of your own reflection of where you want to be. Maybe it's the ability to see the stars at night while pretending you're in a movie. The final scene where there is a happily ever after and whatever music is playing creates the perfect setup for what could be the best picture of your life. Or maybe it's the constant idea of moving and visually understanding new things around you. The idea of something new every mile sparks an interest of curiosity in your mind of what if's and could haves. Where do I want to go, where do I want to be. The thing that people tend to miss is you get chances everyday to be on the other side of that window. So next time you arrive back to reality to wherever you are in this world remember you can always change your destination.

I want to be you
Like I am me
Because I love you
Unconditionally
Desperatly
I want to feel the same pain
Like you do
To suffer on the same way
All the good and the bad
Which is yours
To be mine
But I am not you
Like I am not me

carbon copy
******* kids
all square and full of holes
chasing
someone else's dreams
doing only as they're told

gaping wounds
conformity
it's useless to resist
grayscale thoughts
behind closed eyes
rainbows do not exist

follow the leader
play pretend
grown-up rules, abide
broken backs
and camel straws
there is no place to hide

technicolor
memories
it was just a game
forty years
of servitude
society's to blame

here and now
when youth is young
and colors bold and bright
uncharted paths
with neon skies
teach them hold true and tight

planets turn
and water flows
when dreams, have yet, to die
tomorrows
more than yesterdays
the young see bluer skies

Would I die on words that decay moment after
released to the winds of perception like snow
drops they fall unheard and unwanted.

But still I release them in ever effort to see them
drift like feathers in the wind and skim on all
that were in relation to my thoughts.

But my words are corpses that people wish to bury,
not listen but to put words on granite.

"To all that read this, words were spoken but not listened upon,
they are buried like so many here,

*"Rest in peace,