Post by Mordant on Sept 17, 2015 0:07:01 GMT -5
Afflicted by Dreams
There was little to be said about her disposition, for she was as plain as the air between us. Her eyes, however, were another story. Her eyes were filled with starlight and flecked with hope. It was curious to see her wander about her daily routine with her head so full of these ideas. She would look out at the world and see things that weren’t there, but it didn’t seem like she cared. She would be berated, beaten, and she would even cause herself to stumble and fall, but she still had the same eyes. Eyes that shouldn’t be able to contain what lay behind them. After about a month in her company it became clear to me that she was afflicted with dreams. She would appear outwardly fine, but she was somehow not there. She was probably out fighting dragons, sailing pirate ships, or maybe conversing with god; one thing was for sure though, she was not in the real world. She was far too infected with dreams, seeing the nonexistent and looking far beyond the feasible. It was torment. She would continually sit in the pleasure of a dream land while she wasted away in reality. She was like a unicorn. And reality is no place for a unicorn. It soon became irritating to see her continue on with her ailments. She smiled so easily and every word she touched spilled over into a beautiful symphony, but she still resided in such a closed off bubble. The number willing to remain inside of her boundaries dwindled. Alone and disgraced she still smiled and stared along with that starry gaze. She could not even recognize that she was sick. She needed help and she needed attention, but she kept on staring and smiling oblivious to the toll it took on her body. Day by day her body wasted and people made her a case study, confused by her persistence or her madness. Paper was her gift and paper was also her undoing. The pretty words and shards of galaxies in her heart were not enough to satiate the corpse that clung to her. I constantly requested that she finally shake off her disease so that she could join the rest of us. I wanted her so desperately to fight what was taking over her. Yet, her eyes never stopped seeing what wasn’t there and she smiled and shook her head like I was the one who was afflicted. Soon the paper would catch up to her and her end shortly after. She shed her coat of bones and blood and she was finally free. The dreams and hopes within her finally reaching outside of her cage and into the world she stared at so often. It is a confusing thing when dreams become an affliction. When people are seen following it they seem crazy and are cast out and soon the people who choose to live their dreams are fewer? I don’t know what that makes of us. We constantly chase after paper and the struggle for it is the biggest fight for many. Dreamers are diseased. The spend too much time looking at what isn’t there to focus on the reality of the situation. There is so much to be done but a dreamer would never do it, they would be too busy dreaming about what would happen far beyond when the work is done. And sometimes dreamers would be content with just that. The illusion and the imaginary. Dreamers are an affliction. They spend too much time make believing. The hardest lies to uncover are the lies one tells to themselves and dreamers are the royalty of liars. They live the lie constantly and tearing them away or revealing it will only shove them farther into an illusion of a place where harms cannot reach them, like a splinter pushed farther under the skin. They reside everywhere and make the best story of themselves. Dreamers are possessed by dreams and the saddest part is seeing them leave this world without so much as a whisper, without making a ripple or a stain they depart. Nothing about them had reached out because the world they found comfort in was within themselves and no one could take the time to see it and they would never reveal their lies. Many would rather sample sweet lies than the bitter cup of reality, dreamers are the ones who take it too far and begin to build their homes around the lies rather than make the occasional visit.
There was little to be said about her disposition, for she was as plain as the air between us. Her eyes, however, were another story. Her eyes were filled with starlight and flecked with hope. It was curious to see her wander about her daily routine with her head so full of these ideas. She would look out at the world and see things that weren’t there, but it didn’t seem like she cared. She would be berated, beaten, and she would even cause herself to stumble and fall, but she still had the same eyes. Eyes that shouldn’t be able to contain what lay behind them. After about a month in her company it became clear to me that she was afflicted with dreams. She would appear outwardly fine, but she was somehow not there. She was probably out fighting dragons, sailing pirate ships, or maybe conversing with god; one thing was for sure though, she was not in the real world. She was far too infected with dreams, seeing the nonexistent and looking far beyond the feasible. It was torment. She would continually sit in the pleasure of a dream land while she wasted away in reality. She was like a unicorn. And reality is no place for a unicorn. It soon became irritating to see her continue on with her ailments. She smiled so easily and every word she touched spilled over into a beautiful symphony, but she still resided in such a closed off bubble. The number willing to remain inside of her boundaries dwindled. Alone and disgraced she still smiled and stared along with that starry gaze. She could not even recognize that she was sick. She needed help and she needed attention, but she kept on staring and smiling oblivious to the toll it took on her body. Day by day her body wasted and people made her a case study, confused by her persistence or her madness. Paper was her gift and paper was also her undoing. The pretty words and shards of galaxies in her heart were not enough to satiate the corpse that clung to her. I constantly requested that she finally shake off her disease so that she could join the rest of us. I wanted her so desperately to fight what was taking over her. Yet, her eyes never stopped seeing what wasn’t there and she smiled and shook her head like I was the one who was afflicted. Soon the paper would catch up to her and her end shortly after. She shed her coat of bones and blood and she was finally free. The dreams and hopes within her finally reaching outside of her cage and into the world she stared at so often. It is a confusing thing when dreams become an affliction. When people are seen following it they seem crazy and are cast out and soon the people who choose to live their dreams are fewer? I don’t know what that makes of us. We constantly chase after paper and the struggle for it is the biggest fight for many. Dreamers are diseased. The spend too much time looking at what isn’t there to focus on the reality of the situation. There is so much to be done but a dreamer would never do it, they would be too busy dreaming about what would happen far beyond when the work is done. And sometimes dreamers would be content with just that. The illusion and the imaginary. Dreamers are an affliction. They spend too much time make believing. The hardest lies to uncover are the lies one tells to themselves and dreamers are the royalty of liars. They live the lie constantly and tearing them away or revealing it will only shove them farther into an illusion of a place where harms cannot reach them, like a splinter pushed farther under the skin. They reside everywhere and make the best story of themselves. Dreamers are possessed by dreams and the saddest part is seeing them leave this world without so much as a whisper, without making a ripple or a stain they depart. Nothing about them had reached out because the world they found comfort in was within themselves and no one could take the time to see it and they would never reveal their lies. Many would rather sample sweet lies than the bitter cup of reality, dreamers are the ones who take it too far and begin to build their homes around the lies rather than make the occasional visit.