The fuselage of dream

The fuselage of dream ravaging my mind… staying till the dawn. Changing the flow of thought. For whom do I owe this blow of horrific and gracious chaos. Awaking and questioning, sleeping and dreaming the answer. Phase to the destruction change to resolution, sleep till the next morrow, and wake the dawn of today. Falling deeper into the abyss, the systematic disillusion of fantasy. The obscurity of reality. The bitter display of fake and pretend. The false shelter, the real confusion of the ground. The futile embrace of pain, the fetal kiss from joy. The stunning clock of the damnation dwelling deep in my mind. The mask I wear, this tapered mask falling from my face… my soul. The eyes of one burning through. My wall melting, my mind sweating, my heart racing, my soul locking in fear. Another push… away they go. To close. They almost saw me… and I cant even see myself. With everyone I push away, and every time I change to keep them at bay I lose myself. And they keep getting closer. And again in fear I run. I want someone to get close… but my heart and subconscious does not… so they are pushed away. And then I dream. Always the same dream… and little do I remember as the day grows to dusk… the memories of this dream turn to dust… and from the ash of the night and sleep heavy in my eyes… a courier does appear and to the dream world I disappear. And again awaking with the remains of the dream stuck in my brain… and as the day passes to my thoughts the pain surpasses all. Lost in thought. Found only in absence. Many have said I think to much, and I have always responded that I think to little because I miss some small detail… but I do think to much. I act as if with my thoughts good or bad I some how change the outcome of something… I feel as if every time I think of the outcome of something it never happens good or bad so I turn my thoughts to negative. In some raw hope that things will for once turn good… a clinical error on my part. For everything that happens why dwell upon it. Why try to change something when I know that I can not. The same as this same dream at one point I am always in control… its as real as life… not obscurities or oddities, pain is real the tension in my body, the fear in my mind, I can fell my body as it is real, the sweat dripping into my cuts bring the surge of stinging pain. I cling to the past… what happened I think of how today would if different if only I did this or did not do something or say something. I can not change what happened, so why thinking about it I found my mistake or seemingly mistake. Every time I feel the tension of today, or I start to forget or even start to smile, I bring a memory from the past… but it is laced with pain… for I then conclude in the back of my whimfull head to develop a bond between this happy memory and the pain that followed it. Only to deny myself today. This is how I run how I push them away… I bring up what hurts them… I make them remember only to push them away and destroy my future. But why do I do this? I can only say I am afraid. I fear what I do not know… what could happen. And of being loved and being happy. Every time I lose the remembrance of my pain… I force it upon myself. And as always I am alone and depressed after. Why? I achieve nothing from this… only pain and sorrow. I do this in everything. Every time I start to forget. Every smile I bring that is true. I torture myself… and those that care about me. I push those I wish to be close further away only for fears sake. Not of my own. For what ever it is that dwells in my mind to prevent me from letting go… it robs me. I must face this fear… or all hope shall disappear. I need to let go of the past… all the pain that I have been dealt. All that I have lost. I must let go or I shall gain nothing but more pain and absence. I need to stop thinking… and live life just as I write. No thought from start to finish and uninterrupted period of just doing, no stopping to think; to check to wonder what if I said or did this to make it better… or would it be different it this happened… I realize more of myself in my writing then I do in my thoughts… and all of this is spawned of a dream. The same reoccurring dream I have dreamt since I was little… once in my life I did not have this dream… and for once in my life I know how understanding of my dream. You can not change the past… nor what shall happen. But you can live life!