Dream Carnival

When our crystal eyes seam shut,

and the jet-black hollow emptiness swallows us,

this grants us a marvellous golden ticket to a carnival.

Not the kind with primates and bears dancing on fire,

not the kind with red-eyed rabbits in a hat,

but a kind,

of emulation.

An imitation of the reality we walk our lives in.

Our senses are fooled by our minds, 

we are tricked by our own selves,

into believing in this hollow lie.

We forget the past.

For the first time,

we think of the present.

The sense of time and space are subdued.

The law of physics and nature are dissolved.

This emulation grants us to a realm,

that is only created by ourselves.

We wear kings crowns.

But as if to tell us that happiness never lingers long, 

Our menacing eyes clear open,

and our eyelids are cut open like the cuts in our hearts from our brisk lives.

But instead of scarlet blood,

only salty water seeps out.

As if our eyes are only dry faucets from our stark tuned hearts,

As if we are made out of dry oak wood,

As if the society made us into an icy callous,

only drips of water barely seep to reality.

every single tear,

carrying the utmost emotions,

memories,

hope.

Then we look up,

to the painfully grey sky,

and wonder,

why can't the emulation be true reality?

Who defined what can be reality and what can't be reality?

Where are the standards?

Is there one?

Our crowns disappear,

only to find,

we were only wearing the clothes of slaves.