Drain

Wrote this spontaneously and has thus been abandoned


I wake to realize that every smile and sweet feeling was nothing but a dream that continued when I lay my head down each night, pausing only for the calling sun. I come to realize that means that true life must be emptiness, without the colors of light and early morning skies painting my walls and those closest to me were nothing but a wish from inside my mind. Looking around, there is a tinge of darkness that fills the room, even when the sun shines through my window, highlighting those little dust molecule rays floating in the air, it seems to be unsaturated as if the color has been drained out by a pin or a needle. What else is there to do then but shrug it off and lay back down on this drool stained pillow.
As I do,my world comes back to me, that ever present field always lush and green, the grass that seems to go on forever and sways in the wind like ocean waves, it never seems to grow too tall yet it never seems to wither away. Beyond in a distance, that lovely house, it must be my home. I dream of it constantly so then it must be mine, right? Well its pink for starters, that rustic pink that seems to be just barely clinging onto the two story walls, oh and my favorite part. I never remember what this darn thing is called, the window, it is pushed and you can sit on the edge and look out of it anytime you want, I just adore it. This house, it sit under the most luxurious tree, with beautiful thick branches that shoot out powerfully, holding the wright of green leaves and plump acorns. They seem to reach so high, I'm sure they converse with the clouds on a daily basis, I'm sure of it. Yes this home of mine, I can always walk up to it and feel like an ant compared to its height and I could look at every surface of its outside, and simply be amazed, but when I step inside its marvelous doors. Well, dust is the word that comes to mind. Its a curious little place, a staircase right in the center of the room, the lower lever, I can never seem to remember much of it when I wake, all I know is there sits a staircase smack dab in the middle of it all. When walking up the staircase, creaking under my weight, I peek my head slightly to see the top of the stairs before ascending fully to the second floor, and by now my hands have collected years and years of dust that has settle itself onto the soft white railing. Standing on the top step of the staircase, in the middle of the room mind you, there are four rooms, vacant. One room though, to my right has a simple light pink crib, it hasn't been moved in years and bares cob webs where the rocking would have chased them away. That too, is in the center of the room. The other rooms need not any mentioning because they are completely vacant except for the dust that is overpowering the home holding the floors hostage, taking control of the air, making any trespasser cough and choke on brave dust soldiers.