Dreams trapped in boxes.
I sure deserve some accolades.
I could go a thousand miles, seating proud in my mind like moving waves, twin caves, tweak cravings, touch rocks with touch less touches, all from a thousand miles apart.
I would be from the bars, still locked up in this reality that I have been imprisoned. High up on a chimney, believing smoke off lungs were knotted across the rectum,
off course. Sell your dream in an auction and have a whole life time trying not to sleep.
Cause your vision is no vision without dreams.
And for all to be locked down, like bats at ease, you need to see.
I heard from a thousand miles that you take pills. This could be a whole dosage worthy, after a sip, to slip into the warm arms of sleep.
Could it be true?
You sold your dreams in an auction?
Depression? I get it.
Low self esteem? I feel you melting, you meant it.
Been a thousand years now on the blocks, tied in chains and you are all over trying not to beg for steem.
I feel the pressure you face!
Life could make you sweat like the whole of your essence is fixed slightly above a kettle knocking off its own pressure through, steam.
It could be much of what you have thought and less of what you have prepared for.
You already sold your dreams in an auction and that's one fact you can't beg your happy demons to change.
How about you make enough ego? Conviction that you can do and be the highest bidder the day your dreams would be pushed out of the auction to the very one who most deserve it?
Sleep less, your dreams end in a sleep.
Dream, hence, lest you enjoy life just in your sleep.