Figments Of Imagination Poem by Bullion Grey

Thinking a little one day I realized that my life (as they say in the movies) , was formatted for the time allotted for this body I occupy.
The transportation/image/personality vehicle, trying to keep me in this dream, deceiving my very self strapped into it.

I realized I love a few in these passing years, a few loved me....even a few who made brief appearances in my days. I loved some songs, some days and some places.

There were the solemn precession of jokers and clowns pretending to be - when they were just figments of an over-active and sometimes confused imagination.

I had a dream, where I sat and slowly turned to clay. Cracks and dryness had taken me whole, very quiet, hearing the small chips dropping on the vinyl flooring.