doesn't make much sense.

they say that the keys to the subconscious lie in the inner-workings of our mind.
somewhere, in between the battered cabinets, doors, hallways and skylights...
there lies the key to finding yourself.
a key you are destined never to find, but try endlessly searching for it
underneath the couch pillows of your life, stuck with quarters and candy
destined to be seen by only those who choose to look in the most obvious of places

they say that somewhere
someplace
you and I aren't

they say that somewhere
we're
different, you and I

aren't oblivious

oblivious to the locked doors in our minds
oblivious to the fact that we're much deeper and different than we seem on the outside

and much less, more or less

ambiguously together for reasons beyond reason itself
it seems as though

i dream of the day where

i am someone.

more than just ambiguously living among the dead
residing and complaining
vicariously

i live through the living