On occasion, when the night decides to shine
And the day decides to deepen and darken,
You'll find yourself in the no-man's land of dreams.

Everything around will stretch and breath, alien
in disguise, it seems.
But all you can do is wait to be consumed.

The air will punch you deep in the chest,
The Color of a cut kiwi will shoot you in the eye,
Make you squint and cough.
But you've never felt so alive.

Your clothes will do nothing but constrict, your room
Will strangle until you can't take it.

And this will be the most important moment:
You will leave what you know.

No-Man's Land will become Your Land
If only for a moment.

You will walk along the line between
The end of the world and the beginning
And feel exhilarated when you place one foot
On either side.
You are new, you are life, you are existence.

And when you take all the softest and most beautiful things
And wind them together, creating one perfect thing,
You will name it Butch.
Because you have a sense of humor.

But you and Butch will live forever,
Making, fulfilling, and dashing the dreams
Of those who couldn't leave their own rooms
That constrict and limit;
Who couldn't recognize that the punch
In their chests was the Universe
Saying, "There's more to breathing."

But you know.
And you sit on Mt. Olympus next to Zeus,
Beat the Flash in a foot race,
Convince Mars to go to therapy,
Play with Thor's hammer, and
Crack jokes with Jesus.
You have looked into the eyes of creation
You have understood and
Ascended into Valhalla.

And you are not just sleeping.

Because you--
You are still a little boy,
And it's unnecessary to hold on to dreams
Because you're living one, with no suspicion
That you should be grasping for anything.
In time, your clothes will seem to soften, but
They will still constrict, kid.
Even more than before.
Don't return. Don't just breathe.
Don't call that punching Asthma and
Layer in with medicine and smoke and teenage angst.
Age is the monster you must ultimately fight.
Or do you not believe in monsters already?