Last night, halfway between sleep and sleeplessness, I decided to jot down whatever words that came to my mind without any wordsmithing or preconception, and capture a glimpse of my subconscious in the raw. This poem is what I got:
A balloon, red and round, floated high above my head,
Like a dream long forgotten beneath the silver moon.
A mangled bird with a mangled beak appeared and popped my balloon. Pop!
Pieces of it fell like lifeless wisps back down to the ground,
So I picked them up and stretched them over my skeleton along
The windswept tundra to catch dead dreams.
-Iliad Terra
