i'm dreaming waiting for the day wondering whos job it is to wash the night of sunny rays milky white, cinnamon light washing up with the waves in the dead of night her eyes brown and tangled with mine stare up at the sky, filthy with spite and her universe with mine collides how are your dreams spinning circles in the soil? they draw seeds in the dirt and grow metal and coil building floor after floor in a tower towards the sky how do they survive, with walls of alluminum foil? and i'm just sitting on a palm tree watching everyone go by sinking, thinking, what it is to make me reach for passing flies am i a sloth and slowly moving, never making it very far or am i content to simply be, and watch the nimbly flowing clouds in the sky? and one more eye floats slowly out of a chasm in the ground what makes me so much better, to sit here on this mound? are we all just lost, searching for a way to understand our pain, or are we all inside a hole, searching for the source of all this rain? in the ending of every novel there is a moral about life, or love but are our lives a story, building up to lands above? are we, in the end, to find a way, are we to learn something new, or die inside this hole we made, never building upon what we've been through? so many twists and turns; rounded, invisible and proclaimed so many dead ends, so many nights spent in the rain so many locked doors with broken keys lie in the eyes and the hallways and the corriders are curved like the blades we despise as we walk a tangled tight rope upside down and in the dark what can we use to read by? what can we use to make a spark? i reach my hand inside the milky white, the liquid in my mind why do i feel so afraid, and why am i unkind to everyone who cares for me, i just drive them away and as far as i reached down i could not see or find and as the cinnamon daylight broke into my foggy sleep i felt ants behind my eyelids, opening to peep at the bright white light and a message floating up onto the sand what was this thing that felt so glassy, and melted in my hand? and inside that plastic bottle, wrapped in seaweeds soggy grip there was a little message, with blurry ink from tip to tip i read what i could read, and got nothing from the lot but in the corner of my eye i could just make out a little spot and so i pressed my eyes upon it just to see what i could find and sand and wind blew out into the center of the eye of my mind a girl had rolled up with the wind, with brown eyes hidden between slits and their glance was wrapping up, till they tangled up in mine