illusions, phantoms, your mind is a ghost town. dreams blend with memories, pictures in your head are as real as the sights out your window. time slows through waking hours and slips under heavy eyes and what’s a dream but a world you make, a world with no beginning, time with no dawn, and you never notice. melding with the past like a face in the crowd, visible in its own right and yet it vanishes in the surrounding sea. heavy eyes become light again and it’s the end of the world, so alien and yet all your own, a subtle sorrow for the fall of creation persists in your thoughts, a half-life, it enthralls you, a longing to show the world and you pity them that their eyes have not witnessed what yours have seen. specters, it’s all unreal, it’s all in your head, in your heart, in your bones, it defines you. you become your dreams; your dreams become you.