Darkness. . .
soft and resounding,
repulsive yet resonant with my being.
I am surrounded by it, with only a faint sense of self and existence.
No shadows pass through my realm of vision, memory, or reality.
Is it real, or a fabrication of things I wish were real?
Are my feelings?
Real? Do they exist?
What is reality?
Is everyone I know some marionette I subconsciously maneuver?
Do I ask myself this, knowing if my own reality was created by myself, that I would not feel pain?
That I would know no regrets?
That I wouldn't be asking myself this?
The real question is not,"What is reality?" ,but,
"What is dreamed?"