• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 02

The Dying Process in Dreams

Light and shadows flirt openly
on the weathered back fence.
The leaves of the mango tree
my grandma planted before she died
trembled as an invisible serpent
stalked my weakness.

Razor blades of grass try to pierce
my skin, but it’s futile
—I’m already in the middle of decay.
Autonomous realities cross paths,
collide and overlay.
The objective had become lost
in my madness.

Inch by inch, my consciousness
disappears in the wind stream.
My atoms begin to disperse,
breaking bonds, causing my
physical self to become transparent,
walking (or waking) into another world.