Dreaming Dead


Hello
Dreaming Dead
I remember you, but you can't decide what capsule to ship me away into.
You keep me close beyond the river of insanity and the the thirst for death metal.
Holding me just above the lifeless water, I can hear dead presidents call my name.
They say,
Aren't you a still life?
The dreaming Dead.
Binding our universe in black ice.
There's no room for prisoners to breathe new life into the prism of the mournful souls.
Walking dead there's nothing to shine down your light onto this stained glass that cuts us into something the abyss can find easy enough to swallow inside my far away parallel paradise.
It petrify the summary of how many lies we stole and sear our memories including the mess we're on of the dreaming Dead.
Sleeping aloud, how I want the world to start with a black cloak to help usher in the mechanical light, stardust won't open my eyes to the sin that sticks in it's silver fangs and suck the lifeless fairytale out from dreaming Dead.
The demons up above cast stones at the crucifixion with gladness, and sharing great laughter at the rise of a shape shifting King.
He can have the land of the living, but I am all dead inside.
I am wild in and eternal slave to a triathlon sleep.
My breasts don't rise and fall for oxygen passing through my nostrils into my lungs, I'm so out of touch with the desires that linger with mortality.
Don't awake at the sound of the gunshots fired above ground into the air, like me the gunshots have no fear.
I want to run with the sky to nowhere.
Off the maps and off the grid.
Days are always promised, but never comes around to wake us from paranoia and the Renaissance of this decay era within.
Some minutes might say it is a grace period, but out of pride we follow the angel wings that designate that carrese our olive skin.
Melted into reduction like salted butter, and pouring; wasting away data down the drain before the hexes of a pentagram of the Pentecostal degree .
Hello Dreaming Dead.
We don't ordinarily sync into cloud six.
Whilst we are detained from formal flowers unplucked and still growing taller with their minds and dreaming like it seriously serves a higher purpose.
I don't live in vain unless I don't walk with shadows between the blades of someone else's truth and the real thing, if I don't feel compelled to deliver myself of fraud, heartbreak and church hurt then may I claim insanity.
I'm not sure what is right from wrong, but the pain is another level of photorealism frozen in place and turned into pressure somehow to try to fix what is no longer broken completely, but I think I like this dreaming Dead, because I can make believe your existence when you are mad and call me a liar.
Something inside; somewhat dawns upon me I'm better off moving on without you, it's as though things have gotten worse between us.
My dreaming Dead, I want you to let go of me.
Let me go!
Let me know when you're their dreaming Dead.



Authorship by Mr Dashaun Rashod Snipes
©Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes

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