Reality by AshtonI love to daydreamim a bird and i fly through the skysnever reaching the starsand i flap my bigs wings andfly my hopes and dreams away.Facing reality feels like a chorebut i've vacuumed and i've swept the floor and i clean the dishes til they started to clean me and i still, havent found any comfortin being me.But i packed the baggage in a tightly sealed boxand i bury it beneath the dimly lighten tree to dig it up years laterto come and comeand act like those spoiled memorieswere some kind of fun to be shared, to be spilled and clean with a dirty spongethe same sponge used to clean meand my finger have grown calluses and my hair has begun to split and ive eaten and ive bitten more than i can chew.So who am i really?

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