In between worlds of dreamscapes and escapades,
I lazily gazed within the outer eyes of the scenes.
Wandering upon the streets that my mind paved before my feet.
Gentle waves of plastic beauty sauntering within reach, yet always out of touch.
The basin runs dry as the well refills.
Running without legs, screaming without voice,
I have begun the last of everything that holds nothing.
Scattered thoughts dashed against the shards of rock at the corners of my mind.
It all stops and blinking I open my eyes, anew.
Awoken by the stagnant still waters now stirring within,
I wonder which realm is of gray.
Pinching me proves nothing more than your existence, not mine.





-J.G. Smith (11/22/06)