On Fire.

Curtains keep the world outside, they dim the headlights to a foggy
shade of blue.
The dull flicker of cheap cars, greedy humans, hollow life, and earth, are nothing but ideas.
Stories we've heard, but dismissed.
With naive denial, the world is a fable, and all signs of life
are here on this bed.
We sit like cross legged children,
not caring where we cast our glances or roam our minds.
The air smells serene; summer and incense.
Our eyelids are
heavy.
Our tongues are weak.
Our skin is alive.
Our lungs are on fire.