04/02 Conscious

Figments of imagination swim across visions
They float and flitter like ghosts upon a faint wind
Though they are temperate they are there, as non existent as the grass, as air, as breathing
There is silence, but it is broken by mental screams
No verbal conditions apply for there is nothing but the mind here
Life is not life without the bizarre realities of dreams and dreamscape
As the wingbeats of my dying nightmares come to nothing I look at you
And everything fades to how it was
Retreating back into my - our - subconscious