disynthetic

So there's a fortified belief in my mind that drives me to be fiercely caustic, brazenly confident, and impenetrably sarcastic when I'm confronted with a thing I don't like. I've spent alot of time being misguided in my focus, but now it just feels right. I won't be scorned by failure anymore- I won't give up short of achieving what I want. No apologies and no inhibitions. Now it's official.

I remembered a dream I don't recall having. Shimmering black hair of a pearlescent nature slips out of bloody crimson lake to form into a female- shapely yet formless like mist, as 'she' turns I am only allowed to focus on the eyes of blinding-white, tinged with a piercing hunger. I'm devoured as I give in to a desire to surrender myself because I know that I never really die in my own dreams...?

But as I think that her eyes turn suspicious and scornful, like a peal of laughter in the night. My pride tells me I could give one small favor of myself to have 'her', it doesn't even strike me as selling myself out for less of myself, not even when a kiss that burns my eyes to tearing and cuts my tongue like razors across soft skin. Surprise leads to further surrender and a parting gift- a promise of nothing I wouldn't do to myself eventually. The inner cynic subsides long enough to sow my seed of hope in a sunset sky-colored desert of resonate lies. She fucking hates me. But she doesn't, she can't- she doesn't exist.

My dreams lie to me. They tease me inexorably into belief that my wildest fantasy is only one step outside reality. In the grey area we all believe in one way or another to exist, be it far-fetched to others or gently-tossed to me. I draw strength from inner vision. So much there's my belief that someone might share it. Eventually.

Progress isn't necessarily forward motion. I suppose I need to define love for myself before I decide to want it.