After my concussion.

Most times,
I’m talking to myself,
Thinking to myself,
Where I would rather be,

This life is good,
And full of quality,
Still I feel like there is something different for me,
I never dropped the dream mentality,

Visions of furs and lights,
Stay haunting me,
Parties in the hills,
With models and Kings,

I envision myself floating in space,
Even though the possibility is doubtful,
Crimson strings of galaxies,
And enough darkness to bury me,

I sit here in my reality,
Grateful but yearning for some type of artistry,
A life on the road,
The life of a painter,

In a city of art and obscurity,
Or a cover on a magazine,
For being the most beautiful dreamer,
My dreams may never be,

But at least the sleep,
can comfort me,