I live in a dream where nothing happens.
White walls spin and twist around me
and I stare, watching in awe as they disappear
into a non-existent mist.
The world is nothing to me – I do not know it.
Everywhere I look I see blank white pages,
unturned and not written on.
The words come naturally to me but I have no pen.
It is like faith, living in this world.
I have nothing to believe in so I believe in nothing,
because nothing is something that exists in a dream.
No nightmares dwell because I am the nightmares
and the nightmares I dream are like painting on glass:
they are beautiful but not worthy of anything.
So they linger but no one knows. I am
your nightmare, a dream in a dream that no one can fathom.