School House

We sit here every day looking at the same people watching each other do the same things in the same building, same spot, same seats. Same sames. It's an exhausting setting as you drozily make your way into this building every weekday morning, and even on the weekends it's the same sometimes. It's so controlled, so organized, robotic like and almost an over grip of what is needed. Spontanity is missing in everyday lives, creativity and even individuals become to seem similar in all one way. Sleep and dreams seems to be the only reality of originality. Sleep is all I want to do, and dreams are all I want to see. Dreams of real life events and dreams of impossible heights. I want to imagine an electricfying shock of mystery solving and then fantasize of a soothing symphony of caressments.

And then I wake up and find it's time for school.