i'm tired of my paradox dreams
completely contradicting to reality
with a twist of nonsensical fiction
and a pang of pathetic poetry.

in my dreams, you love white,
but in reality, it's black.
i guess irony is part of imagination
and so is this color addiction.

i wish you could tell if i'm
dreaming about you the way i do
because it's the only way you'll ever
find how thoughts of you
follow me like a plague,
and how memories of you
torture me in a way not even you can.

i'm sorry if i'm saying all this crap
because it's not like we can
blame all this on the church doors.

AN: reviews are very much appreciated :)