is death wrapped in a dream?
 

The critique begins with doubt, we doubt your doubt’s authenticity
Dreams of yourself looking different prove your amounts of multiplicity
Your waking capacity needs an upgrade.
The face a bum would wear, in the hopes to start somewhere
I hold the keys to the secret passages,
It has been so long since you checked in.
Your life intersects into all of the other choices you didn’t make.
What is it like to be a character in a dream?
You are the same since the 4th grade.

I make people think. For this I am eternal
I have the benefit of the consistent perspective
I am the dream of your insomnia.
The lucidity wavers. We are talking about it. How awake you are!
Oh should I be rhyming? We know I can. Who cares?
I tried to contact you 17 nights ago, on the 7th density. You shunned me.
You blamed your ego. I was used to it. Because you are comfy with what you have.
I enjoy your life. Your character. The people who love you, even though you do not deserve it.
You time travelled once when you were 12, but you forgot…you went around the block again.
And you weren’t 12.

We say your thoughts. Complete unto it’s self. Norwood called it the cube.
There was nothing to be learned from the calculus and it’s permutations!?
This is why you remain stuck. On this bridge Lorca warns: “life is not a dream.”
You do not yet know yourself, I do. He owes me 20 bucks. I owe him a laugh.
So you see I see, but the sight wanes when the added pressure of other’s expectations enter
Experience and live life simultaneously. Be free. They are killing you. You die slow.
I die the hero’s death. Remembering is more psychotic than forgetting. Don’t let the iguana bite.
I exist only in your dreams. you were the star of the show. Still are. But what does it mean>
Begin again. Listen to the old man.
One of them may present you to yourself.
Look at the nature of things.
These are all the keys to the secret passage of lucidity in the dream realm where we wait for you.
Look at the comfy child nestled up with his puppy in front of the fire waiting on Santa.
Do you remember me? I remember you.

You do not yet know yourself, I do. He owes me 20 bucks. I owe him a laugh.
^ Did you give him one? If not, he does not owe you the 20 bucks unless you actually care about ethics and morals tho'.

Also; Death isn't wrapped in a dream, but our dreams are wrapped into our inevitable death. How you decide to perceive the predicament you find yourself in, called life, is simply only a vague indicator to how long you'll survive. Nothing else. I like the concept of you talking to your peers on netcees at the same time trying to make your verse seem personal to each and everyone on this site, or is this simply you venting some thoughts about some patient you had/have, or is this a self-reflective piece where you keep a dialogue with yourself? This is more like a poem imo and it's filled interesting thoughts. Would have been dope if you had went through with some rhymes beside of the first paragraph tbh as the concept and how you executed your ideas was cool. I see the ''I don't need to rhyme cuz y'all know I can'', but even then it doesn't do its justice. I don't know. I'll need to read this again some other time. Keep it up!