I continuously sit
at my desk,
where all things seem
to come to life.
Whether I say
a G’day or G’night,
it does not matter,
for day and night
are both the same,
just one is of fire,
and the other of ice.
My creations, the objects
upon my desk,
they all come to life
at the vest best,
and I have no way
of turning it off.
My mind is erratic,
the voices and ideas
speak to me in my sleep,
as reality sometimes
becomes that of a dream,
where I contemplate
whether or not I am alive,
or just lying here, awake.
Because both are the same,
yet so very different.
Am I awake, asleep,
or am I still buried deep
inside the ground,
where I’ve always been
asleep?
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