Childhood reveries

I left wonderland and never turned back, but I don’t remember how it happened.

I used to dream of sleeping on cotton clouds and watching the sunset with long-lost family members. I used to look in the mirror and be more interested in the concept of a reflection than the image itself. Reflections did always seem quite surreal to me, distorted little images of the world around us caught in silver teaspoons, fluorescent soap bubbles, puddles of rain. In my bedroom, I built pillow castles with my friends, but they crumbled and left us, left me, without defense. A younger spirit and a younger mind. A soul that had barely ripened enough to lose its greenish tint. Childhood meant empty canvases and skeletons of innocence, endless curiosity, and no concept of time.

Mother always asks me how I grew up this fast. I used to giggle at that, laying down on my parents‘ enormous bed and mindlessly kicking my feet around in the hot air.

Now I sit on the edge of the mattress.

„I don’t know.“

I don’t know.

Who listens to dreams?

Daytime reveries usually stay hidden

In the chambers of hollow hearts.

Nighttime fantasies are better left unspoken of.

Sometimes I get caught up somewhere

Between a nightmare and a fever dream

Distorted Dandelions

Daring Dances

Octaves of Obscurity

How far am I from reality?

The path behind me leading away from

Normality, starts turning blurry

I’m standing on a meadow with bladed grass

It is cutting into my bare feet

Leaving stinging marks and a trickling line of blood

The crimson droplets dissolve into

Ivory pearls of dew

On the old tree further up the hill,

I pick sticky stone fruit

To match the aftertaste of the sour silky wine

Is it possible to die awake?

Please, let this final reverie be mine.