Dream State

Hearts of stone are cracked and, at rest. But in my dreams I can feel again, in my dreams i am flesh. However I rarely dream. For I'd rather live in the unfathomable void; than, let my darkness burglarize the hearts, with an emotional loid. Cracked open windows with thin, serenading, plastic, I am indifferent and comfortably numb. With vulgar curiosity I peer at the bystanders while adding up the sum. Using anathematized art I set out to plagiarize social norms, in correct proportion of the nyctophilian hum.