Retracting the lens so blurring the reality of my disposition,
palms elevated
              to nurture the faculty of all perceptions,
but still I see  nothing but obscure whispers.

I trip on ideal memories, decomposing in a bath
of repetitions
                     but still I read them as if new,
I speak out the misshapen vocals.

"This is but a dream within a reflection of concealed visions,

I feel as though I'm falling,
slumping into awoken confusion,  I look around, those echoes
fading like morning fog and I then there just gone.