By: Gus Calvo
The mirage of being alive,
the mere fabric of reality can become a mere fragment
in a eternal puzzle of a fragile mind,
that can't see beyond the memories and the now;
what is real and what is fake.?
Are the pieces that I've been fitting
to put some sanity into my head.
Dreamscapes become nothing more than an extension of my fears,
Where I revive the hate and tears,
there are still sounds from another time
before everything crunched into itself.
There is no doubt that life is just a mirage
composed of millions of jigsaws that can be broken
into an infinite numbers of pieces;
and never ever being ensemble again.