outer space

fantasy is an escape.
it is an ocean voyage leading to an island with as many or little people you want.
it's a coloring book, a coloring book with people who don't know you, waiting to be colored.
it's an untitled thick red book, wishing someone will name him.
it's an empty composition book lying under your bed.
it's the dusty violin in your basement.

it is completely cerebral.
and i hate it.
it's my little black book,
it comes with my name tag but i hate it.

i try to escape myself,
i try to escape my dirty bleeding heart.

= i'm at an internship convention with tables and ties everywhere. i cannot remember where my table is. i'm not tall, my hair isn't red, and no one makes eye contact. my name tag reads,

HELLO
MY NAME IS
can i leave? do i have to be hear?

some elderly secretary walks up to me, staring at the bottom of my chin in a daze.
"YOU HAVE PASSED YOUR TABLE SIR, PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR TABLE"
as i turn i begin to read the display boards behind each table.
" Work for the company who sells insomniac pills!"
"Steal nights from the crack addicts for 5 months! - start your career today!"
"The Sleep Age has passed, be an intern for the modern world!"

where am i ?
i rub my eyes, and drive my fingers through my unnaturally tame hair.
everyone's mouth is moving, no noise in the entire room. (to which the end cannot be seen)
there is someone facing me. far away. and least it seems so. no one else faces me. i walk towards him.
he is staring at me.
he is not wearing a tie, he has no name tag.
his hair isn't combed. he looks tired.

his hands tumble within each other.
he throws me a paper airplane.
"walk with me," he says, "lets wake up!"