Wandering around the room like I'm in a cycle, spiraling.
Hours passed, it hurts my knees from within.
Creating the millionth dream in my fantasy,
Will I ever stop this pattern or has it become a part of me?

Witnessing all these blurry images in me
Happy crowds and smiling faces, rising from my tragedy.
Is it my brain that is protecting me?
By creating false realities I've never tasted.

Should i be grateful for it or just stop?
My tasks are overflowing from the desk, a pile so high, someone could climb to the top.
My intuition tells me to cut this habit off,
Like a tumor that should be chopped.

Finally discovered it's all just parts,
Drenched in dark pitch, starving larks.
The moments i should have been in,
Have they turned into curses or are they just blessings?

Constantly putting off, it's addicting
Cause as long as I am in my head and dreaming,
I wouldn't need any other thing
Still, I can sense my higher self hoping:

Someday in the future I'd be quitting
Replacing these fake memories with something genuine
I don't know if it will happen but if it ever does
My legs would finally sigh and be greatly thanking.

I could write about castles and elves and fated love all night long but then I'd ignore all my chores and dream
the day gone
I can write these enemies into perfect lovers but where's my energy to fold these freshly washed quilted covers?
The slow burn ends when my pen hits the page but when I'm met with reality
all I feel is rage
And in my poetry I find escape but I'm just staring at my wall, and hitting my vape.

becoming the clouds
floating through the atmosphere
daydreamer’s delight

I dream
of the apocalypse
long for it
fantasize daily
of what it would be like

the world as we know it
ending
never to be the same again

the pain of lost nostalgia
society crumbling
a fresh start

I long to see human nature
stripped down to animal form
raw fury
primal instincts

we would all be killers
wild and desperate
so focused on survival
we'd forget about all the petty things that used to matter

everything would be different
no one would have to hide anymore
I WOULDN'T HAVE TO HIDE ANYMORE!
we could succumb to it
the darkness
the Monster

it wouldn't matter
the demons that plague you
who you love
who you are
all your deepest
darkest
secrets
suddenly simply methods of survival

I would survive, I think
we would
alone
together
just fighting zombies

let's be honest:
they aren't that bad anyway

someday, society would be reborn
a new one
post-apocalyptic
we would go back to what we once were
creatures of the night
of blood and beauty

but for a while, nothing but
anarchy
lawlessness
pure desperate survival
where nothing matters
and everything goes

I dream
of the apocalypse

Daydreaming and Dissociating

Dissociation is a way of transcending one's own boundaries,

A feeling of weightlessness, of drifting in the viscosity of thoughts,

Daydreaming as a kind of state without space and time,

Lost in a Penrose triangle of emotions or feelings,

Nothing endures there, at the same time everything is there,

Like a library where the books only have empty pages,

A concert without music, without sounds, without lutes,

A meadow where no flowers grow or where flowers will never bloom,

A journey without a destination,

The body and mind reorganise, they change and adapt,

In essence, dissociating is a kind of daydreaming, only much less pleasant,

Daydreaming and dissociating fight for supremacy in me every day.