Stretched betweenwakefulness and oblivion;identity’s rebellionand sleep’s persuasion;I fiddled with thebitter cold star inside me.Dead star with dead dreams at its core.
Dead dreams and immovable dreams;kinds that do not collideto trigger life;warping and folding on themselves.Under the dead weightsof their doomed expectations,they dived into the unknown dimensions of me.
Wormholes openedinto the unknown beings of me,unseen vistas, unexplored terrainsand starry skies studdedwith unfulfilled desires.And in one such dimensioneven peace was within grasp.But in barged sunlightand the nightly multiversecollapsed into the day