Numb-skulled

In those days, your young men will see visions and your old men will dream dreams...

What I wouldn't give for a dream that would find its roots stretching far and deep, rooted in reality. If only if in the deepest spot in the deepest crack between my dreams' deepest roots there was not dirt of sleeping thoughts but the smallest grain of the deep deep reality.

"For what dreams may come after we have shuffled off this mortal coil?"

If I did not believe in God, I would be as existential as your albino friend. But what to do when those close find themselves slipping their arms from the life vest, doubting if the surface is really where they want to be -asking themselves and others out loud if they can call themselves one of those who do not sink if they truly question the act of floating.

Do I sound drunk? Altered?
Every once in a while I find my sober thoughts are rather similar to drunk ones. Such is the nature of my mind.

I struggle.
It may be a secret.
A secret only kept because I keep to myself -the walls may have ears but I find them indifferent audiences. Mostly I'm afraid of how they talk after I've been hanging with them too long.

I need to get out more.