While no one dreams, while no one else screams in the nightmares, come loose once connected to ruins scattered in entrenched thoughts - I am elsewhere in the fields of constant reverie where rivers flow like veins. Born in the blue conscious spark of desire. Funerals are black, when we dream when we fall back to escape into the thinnest void. A hurried kiss upon the porcelain lips, a statue carved out of our heart. I am here, searching for the last shell on a shore. In each season, neither petals nor autumn leaves will fall, while ears are looking up. I do not fade, as I view the white hourglasses, painted black with the blue of blood from unopened bruises, unopened letters. Red letters, dark complexions of ink, with hearts engraved before the grave absorbs each teardrop. While no one dreams in the vacant night. While no one screams inside the light.