Houses made of tight colorless flesh
Roads of cold steal ice
A sea of thick liquid oil
A sky of sharp dark dust
Holding a hated blood red sun

I walk around sluggish
Palms planted in my jeans
Scratching against the rough blue material
I hear the screams of children
Sounds of pain and anger
Shooting me in the head
Piercing pain rattles my skull

I look p and clear my injured mind
Then close the shades to darkness
A vision appears of a slide show

Houses made of vibrant sweet candy
Roads of bright golden riches
A sea of crisp soft liquid
A sky of fresh smelling roses
Holding a giving warm sun

My palms relax
A grin of happiness hits my face

Then the blood curdling screams return
The haunting sound kills my vision
I open my eyes of tears
I see the cruel world I live in

But this is not my world
This is not my vision
This is reality