The beginning of the end,
my dearest friend,
how can I explain
that which I cannot comprehend?

These sensations calling themselves out,
Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch.
They all conspire against me,
to make me want too much.

All the while I lay in darkness
painting a coat of dream upon dream,
I cry and scream against myself,
searching for a light at the seam.

Its all a reflection, a mirage
the flickering of lights so blue,
but the closer I bring my hands
I lose the space between me and you.

We are all but an extended reaction
No raw meaning, just sign upon sign.
And our drawings we desperately analyze,
circles we call space and lines we call time.

I object to the objective,
I am desperately trying to see
How to be blind of sight,
and become reality.