In dreams i walk with you...

There are some moments in a man’s life where he has to choose between the images he sees and the time which merges with the preconceived notions of those particular images. There are also moments in which I begin to elaborate on my sense of existence, of who I am. While on the other spectrum, I try to distinguish the light and the dark playing tones on the canvas of my skin. How much light is necessary to deliberately portray who I am, the thing inside. This thing swimming within the vestibules running through my head. Night after night, day after day, waiting for the sun to tell me what looks right, what can possibly be wrong with the humanity growing in a circumvented direction. The man, inventing the numerous ways I can possibly be. But never shall I become, and never shall he create a concoction for me to become.

The only color I perceive to be correct is red, though i don't use the color to paint because as it is the blood that flows which has always been there in whatever I do. I exist in my black and whites it matters and it is heavy.

Deranged is the weather, deranged are the houses being erected at a consistent pace. I love seasons but sadly, we don't get it here. Seasons makes me feel dreamy, like a certain nostalgia that repeats itself. Like liquor without the alcohol. Like drugs without the poison. Like love without a man, without a woman, without a need to pull out a cause. It comes and goes just like.. that. Just like that the world can take your lips and shut it. Just like that the world can close your eye lids and describe to you exactly what it is that may be out there. Eventually you will believe the world. Eventually, you will no longer be able to see who I really am to you. Just like that the world can feed your emotionality as some kind of energetic reason to work, or live, or to just be.

There will come the time when I shall hand you my heart and you will not understand and look away. So when I open my mouth, you start laughing at everything I say be it poetic or not, or deep, or shallow, or silly. Your laughter will stir your bowels, just like the world that tickles you with insurmountable light and sound.

Then I will disappear. Hello, my name is Jenny.