Create.Evolve

I’m writing stories in my sleep.

Vivid the color, true to the touch.

Casted out into a titanic flood of sheets, I make my way onto the ledge.

To jump and live would be a miracle, to live and not jump would be a disappointment.

Treasures aquired, aerial thoughts of greed.

Convenience yourself that within that sweaty palm lie the gold your heart desires.

Check only to find the platform empty.

Arise, and hope for better luck next time.