dreams are reality, and reality is dreaming

i came here to write a story. i came here to write a dream. i came here to take my mind off of reality for a while. i came here to set the record straight and to dive into a world apart. here i am. here is the story. i came home the other night feeling drained of all my feelings. my fingertips were numb. in fact, i'm quite sure that they were bleeding. oh well, it's of no relevance to me. i was ready to head to bed. i wanted to rest my throbbing head, but instead i dove into the imaginary realm of make believe. i saw a funny sight. i'm not saying this is right, but the sky was bitter toffee flavored and painted like a dream. the grass below my bare feet tasted like honey. it was long, and ran up to my ankles. a river flowed nearby with serpents peering their ugly heads out. the river wasn't filled with water. it was filled with dead imagination. i smiled at the serpents as i grabbed a red balloon and floated high above the mesa. all the ground below me failed to seal together. it broke and crumbled. i cried and crashed. i landed in a tree. it's branches spread like spiderwebs. it's fruit was bittersweet. i made a wish to fly, and i cattapulted into the sky. i eliminated everything. there was no way to find a sin. in my own little world, i saw the smoke signals from a cave. the wisemen there had made a pact to watch me as i learned. there were sins and killers left in hiding. eliminating was evolving. i sat on the floor of the giant mushroom forest, and inhaled sweet relief. then, i flew once more into the world that was one.