how prophetic

There's a reason, isn't there?
For why people hate to speak
aloud, and with conviction,
freeing themselves and being a stand
against the bullshit of misconstrued notions
and political agendas.

On the day I turned of age I began to plan
and prophesize
the things I had been planning and prophesizing since the moment my heart peeled away
and left in it's place a dream world that used the fragmented ideas
of a wonderland filled with people worth knowing
and mistakes not worth thinking about
and a damn beautiful conviction
that everything would be okay.

Often now, I turn the light on in my dreams.
Contrary to lore,
contributing to myths,
electricity does course through the visions
of the mind.
Often now, I lose things to the floods.
Tidal waves slamming into apartment buildings,
never loosening a stone,
pathetic to the push of the water;
emotionless giants from which I throw cigarette butts
and watch them burn
beneath the surface of the water.
Legends never equate to the logistics
of dreamlands,
or the starry nights beneath smoke filled skies-
paradoxes, that sometimes seem true.

There's a reason people stop eating.
It's to free themselves from earth, and create a land of dreams
in which bodily needs deserve less thought
than we give dreams
hours after waking.