Too Young To Comprehend

What we see is a desolate reflect
an imaginary pool of ourselves,
staining our surrounds with hand prints on the people we hold close to us.
Our hopes Our dreams
We stumble, jerk and groan to find reality and more importantly realism.
Your drunken gunshot wounds on my blackened eyes,
A vision,
Just like your thought in my head.
We share,
One thing of a thousand
creating something beautiful.
You and me we are the same
What differs is the saturation, Intensity and vividness in which we dream
The brightness of your yellows and the deepness of my blues.
I see you in the disfiguration and
distortion
of what you thought you desired in its most inadequate form
of objectivity,
I dreamt I saw you in the disfiguration and
distortion
of what you thought you desired in its most inadequate form
to drink water religiously.
I find the grass is always a pigment too dark,
but what would i know... I’m only a teenager.