but instead, you got the real deal. down on your luck. staring up at the sky. wondering, as the moment passes, how many moments will pass before this reverie ends. thusly, killing the reverie.
your heart can sometimes dance. but for no reason. and you sleep the mundane, trembling sleep of an un-accused man. you swelter under a quilt of guilt. but you have done nothing.
they can throw you in jail for that too.
you wake to work. you work to deaden the noise and the pain. you throw off heated particles and breaking bonds. you are destruction and in your wake: dead things.
but your eyes betray everything. you never weep.