Delusions

[ascendingsoon]

BLUE

I dream sometimes.

Days when the rain falls, the fog clings to high cliffs and is tinged with the scent of salt more than the taste of despair, anguish, disbelief, I dream.  It is a nice dream: one of many colours and many sounds.  I see figures that prance about like rabbit and deer in the forests.  Their forms were always so graceful.  They turned and spun and danced in circles over and over again.  Some days they will run around my head.  I reach out to grasp them but the mist evaporates.

And then the rain ends.

Little things come to me, if I let them.  Thoughts, mostly, but sometimes butterflies that mistake my antlers for the trees.  Perhaps it would be a good life to be a tree: existing, reaching ever-higher, to crest upon the clouds and to drink in all the world has to offer.  It would be an easy life.  A simple life.  My purpose does not call for such a thing, however.  I cannot be satisfied with this complacency.  I wish to, because everyone used to tell me how different I used to be.  But what is the purpose of the parrot, to whisper and chide, to the bird greater?

And so I remain in stagnancy.

These emotions are amusing to me.  They are vapid, fleeting, and feel as though I were hit with poison.  My body hates it.  My mind savours it.  I do not know what to do.  Perhaps in my use of words, weaving them like a spell, I have fooled myself into thinking I was something else.  Maybe this is merely a portion of my mind, my essence, that seeks freedom from the ichor that binds it.  Maybe it is myself talking in a voice that is not mine because I hunger for acceptance in the heart of the weak and foolish.

I dream sometimes.

And in these dreams, the rain never ends.

Can you hear me? Do you believe me? Honey attracts better than vinegar ever will.

[ascendingsoon]

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