I believe I can make my dreams dissolve
then reappear in the shape of crayons
to color the caverns whom never been painted on
I'd splash the ceiling with an electric purple
that yells out,"save me, I'm on fire"
while the whistle watch blue
stains the ground with its beaded head
The walls itself I shall scribble scrabble
till it is as ordinary as chickens with chicken pox
My dreams are dreams of dreams
where I can see them while everyone else is far away
I will sail on top of my crayon box
to a land of mashed skittles
there I can taste the freedom that comes with a Friday night
this is the only way I know how to vent, by writing something only I can understand
But it feels as if I let someone else know, that's how I go to sleep at night.