In dreams, I create infinity.
I walk down Escher’s infinite stairs
and trip – as a board breaks.

In dreams, I fall.
I fall and land in the sand.
In dreams, I build buildings
Eight miles high.
Each floor a mirror of different sights.

In dreams, I create life.
I satisfy that which is not satisfied.
They breathe, they live and die.

In dreams, I cancel reality,
I find my escape, and break the ladder down.

In dreams, I create infinity.
I manipulate time.
In dreams, I live forever.

A mark of mastery, a degree of high status,
Atop a tall throne, spectre in hand.
Waving and yelling like the fools in grey.

This ink, which poisons his blood,
Paints profound pictures posing
A small threat to mind.

I stood there with open words,
A blank mind and colorful slate.
Free of prejudice, the glass seems clear.

A cheer here and there, a successful move forward,
A journey almost satisfied,
A night out alone ol' Luna in the sky,
A trip into roses, of all different kinds.

Recovery and some blood, the journey has just begun.
With birds on heavy watch, guarding their sacred forest.
Closed words and filled mind,
A grayscale slate was left.

A sudden feeling -
One that flows through the veins,
Into your hands - clenched
The sudden urge comes up
Like yesterday's lunch,
Eyes covered in red,
Grinding teeth, clenched muscles
Angry, feverish hate,
A sudden feeling to lunge forward,
And strike

As I stand there, with the water through my hair
I look around and see the tiles,
Beige, and the grout,
White, but *****.

I stand there, and gaze.
I reminisce of the day's events,
Of happiness and exhaustion,
And smile to myself.

I grab the soap, and wash the day away,
That tainted water that falls down the drain.
As I fresh up for bed, and prepare to sleep,
I write them down, the day's events,
As not to throw them away.

I am Jack, awake at night.
Staring at the ceiling, eyes peeled open,
Tired and without energy, but his mind insists
That he stay wake.

I am Jack, dreaming, asleep.
Falling, flying, fighting.
I toss and turn on my coffin-bed,
I am restless, tired in dreams.

I am Jack, awoken and slow.
I struggle to wake and stumble to go.
Staring at the ceiling, still half-dreaming,
I start my engine, and get up to prepare.
The day ahead will be tiresome,
But the night-time's always there.

A grey canvas, the heavens weep.
tears taken from the sad and the joy.
A gloomy mood provided from the angels:
A time to reflect

A pool for the air, the cars struggle
to swim through, the folk with
plastic shields to remain dry.
their feet dragging through the puddles.

the children stare out the window,
groaning and whimpering at the tears from the sky.
the watch their saturday morning cartoons,
a distraction from nature.

as everyone resets and sleeps away,
the angelic weep begins to decay,
as the sun shines, and reflects the moon,
the angels rise in a better mood.