Had a dream last night, that was vivid enough to be analyzed while I was dreaming. Gonna try and recollect it now.
So basically everyone had a silver rod. And on said rod were like patterns, a story if I'm not mistaken. At the beginning of my dream I was flattening them. Just making them flat, 2-dimensional. This upset everyone. Asking me,
"why?'
So I stopped at the end of my dream. My dream is writing. My rod is my pen. And you are my inspiration. At the end of my dream I could stop. Not a moment sooner though.
I normally don't analyze dreams. Just this one was so fucking beautiful. The setting was in the hospital. And there was everyone. Cops, family, lovers, haters. All where in medical gowns. I was in my grimy street clothes. I think I'm gonna do.
Words are medicinal. Let me heal you.
Call me a priest, because that's what I play.
