Lucid Dreaming on a Tuesday, enveloping my consciousness like a letter you never meant to send. My window seat bed, toasted by the sun My body is frozen, in the depths of an ocean of synapses Firing, like a bullet from the civil war. Evacuate the south, I am suffocating in an oxygen of regret. A raven flying in a V of geese, Forced into migration by disorder of priorities. Living for today is tantalizing until you awake in the abyss of tomorrow, The story book of life, a chapter of yesterdays. Nostalgia encompasses the future, make sweet the heavy Like jelly on a biscuit. What have I been starving myself for anyway?