dreams
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How strange it is, to watch someone’s face sparkle and dance with life on a Monday, and for it to be gone by Tuesday. How strange it is,for our bodies to decay, to expire,yet leave behind an undeniablepresence if we’re open to it. How strange it is to look into your eyes merely through a
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Dream states are altered consciousness and I know this but the theory is immortalized as I slip into the abyss. a white noise app fills the silence of the night. I pick familiar sounds to soothe my slumber-a crackling fire, a heavy rainstorm, roaring city streets. They envelop me in warmth and nostalgia. I drift,
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Accessing my higher consciousness is a rather particular process. I picture my name. It holds so much power. I imagine my energy, a feeling like rods of cold glass, coursing through me. I begin to buzz. I am aware of my clothes touching my skin and I can taste the inside of my mouth. My
Lashanda Forsberg 