I have now slept through half a dream. I hardly remember traveling the backseat to gold sand beaches with the family. Reaching my hands out the window to the sky feeling that cold summer breeze. Apt flat land transforms to wrinkled creases with age. A brand new white sheet of paper bends and becomes corrupt with inks stains, dirt, and oil, so I keep turning the page. I try to relate, and see through things; Everything is transparent. The same faces laced with blue, brown, or green eyes, I can see behind. Through belief, not faith, I will eventually make a change for every dollar given. I know I have what it takes, but am I able to overcome and somehow psychologically take away what I have. This gift has been wrapped within my ribcage for centuries now. I need to let it out but something blocks it; its like its closed behind deadbolt doors hiding from the red-eyed-stalker outside. Knock, knock, knock, should I answer to this invisible fear? Maybe follow it around the corners to explore landscapes of pastures with diamonds that hang in mid-air, with all the cottonballs that drain life, a fire in the sky that settles on my pale snowy skin? I am a revolutionary painter disguised in a painting - Emotionless, motionless, on the wall. Rocking slow, back and forth on a boat in the captains cabin, just drifting with the ocean.

Because sometimes you just wish people could see what you see.