Pretty shocked... pretty, pretty amused by my freakin' reality dreams. Life sometimes tastes like relish and I really don't know how can that dip mess all my salad up. Start to think that, in fact, the dreams are like the drums on that odd song, and they come over and over and over. The drums, the drums, the drums. Better take my suitcase, covered of dust and full of those unhappy memories, and throw it throught the window. Maybe, just maybe, that could help my mental health. Health that's a little shitty. I hate when I get weak after a long period of abstinence. Maybe I need that on my blood and there's nothin' I can do about it. Or maybe is just the period of strongness that's gettin' tired of fight against my deepest wishes.
Maybe I should stop thinkin' and start flyn'. This ship is takin' me alone. Hate my sudden weakness.