...

What is reality, if not a speck in an ocean of our imagination?
Kill all reality and what do you have? Imagination.
Kill all imagination and what do you have? Nothing.

What a shame, one never leaves the other one alone.
What a shame, one defines the extent of the other
What a shame, one speaks of the futility of the other
eternally

Spontaneity, the innate tool smeared with imagination
scathed by realms of conversations and imagination
Imagination, the melancholic controller of our being

What a pity, we're in weak hands
Our puppeteer is but a sadistic observer
Un-participative in this distressful encounter
with our selves.