Psych induced insomnia

The thought passes realms, crossing paths into this morning's dimension. It fades, pulling itself back as it leaves something behind—pieces, blurry and unclear visions, like staring into shattered glass. Was it only a dream? Prophecies like those of Nostradamus perhaps. Gather these thoughts and grasp the scenes, staring up at the ceiling, cold and drenched, shivering with no covers. Puzzled, deep in thought, I handle my cigarette, watching ghosts rise from the smoke.

Thoughts from the dream flash, the story unfolds. Your mind collapses and blood floods your cranium. Can you stand it? Withstand it? Your heart skips a beat, aneurysm rising. Capture these arrhythmia-induced beats. You're weak, dizzy, and now confused. Breathe in and out. You're awoken, you're in reality now. It was all but a dream, birthed from the Moon as caterpillars cocoon. The meta became alive, breathing in God's breath, blessed this present day, the gift He gave.

Soar high once your metamorphosis begins, flying high as the wings of a butterfly. Become thinking sapiens, one with the air, each of us connected by the ether. Senses are common, truly magical, awoken and spread evenly among us. Fresh air we breathe, souls blowing with the trees, tasting the sweet fruits, how sweet the taste. Flowers' aroma, harmony, solar silence in our peace.