Castle

My World is my Mind. Nothing is real. Nerves, Atoms, particles of existence create scenarios vividly in my head, almost real enough to touch. But nothing is real. None of it will ever be real.   My mind is not a World. My mind is not a Planet. My mind is not the land you travel or the seas you sail. It is the people, who make it up. A population of over hundreds of people, and ongoing. Conversations, memories, personalities; All of which assemble the bricks of my walls, pave my paths, and shelter me.   Art is the trigger to which my mind races like a bullet. No, not just art, but existence itself. Breathing, Thinking, Eating, Walking, Talking, Pacing, these are the fingers that move back as I hear a click. These are the fingers that position themselves perfectly around the handle. These are the fingers that, with one small twitch of a muscle, can have my life flash before my eyes.   My mind is a castle. Fingers morph to legs which belong of the people who formed this place. A wild imagination is a dangerous parasite to the host. Only those who are beloved earn their place. Outsiders simply don't exist, but then again, Insiders don't either.   Nobody is real. Everybody is real. A chosen few live in the Castle. Those who live in the Castle are real to me. Those who live in the Castle are just air to everybody else. Those who do not reside in the Castle walls are real, just as real as me. But that does not mean they are real to me. That just means I don't know who they are.     Blisters cover the feet of those who dream, in the Castle.