Philsophical Daydreams

The walls we build around ourselves really don’t protect from much,
somehow all that is soiled seems to seep through.
Why must you drown yourself in reckless waves?
Why not dig your own grave, and drag me down with you?
I must be sleeping because nothing could be this terrible.
Kill all this anguish anyway; it’s really the only escape.
To what extent are we letting ourselves be deceived?
But the world keeps spinning round, with not time to tell.
And it’s hard to say you love someone and it’s even harder to say you don’t.
Grinning façade, the best I can do today is a half smile;
react made images: my fragmented faces.
Maybe tomorrow my reflection will change.
Dreams are impossible;
enemies never marry and so the union of fantasy and reality is without a solution.
Maybe if I fell into Pollock’s jungle I could find an answer.
We love to lie that love will come around, but
I try and believe the darkness can fade, but
I’m as sure of that as we all once were that the world was flat.
You seem content in exchanging my sanity away
for a downpour.
Do you not want this anymore?
Puddles remain and wash away what’s left of the world;
persistence of memory.
Why should anything make sense if we don’t?
Evidence of creativity is all we have.
The oxymoron of utopia existence comes into play.
Bleeding destiny, lost in the pouring of our path,
am I being me or a product of society?
If communication is the key where do mind games come in?
You can never escape your own human condition.
And all my colorful thoughts eventually drift together
and my world comes out grey.