Dream

From urge to urge, I desire without restraint nor pause. My wants remain an uncataloged procession of limitless possessions. This stream of noxious fume fills my expecatations as a balloon, stretched tight and thin, filled with desire. And reality is but a pin. And over and over again my dreams die with a heart-stopping pop.
But I define reality, as I define me. And reality need not be so sharp, and my dreams not so thin. A dream must know it is a dream, and it must know that it must toil upon the earth, and so, reality becomes that soft pillow that helps keep me dreaming.