nothing i see is as it seems

i've finally left reality
in a swirling cloud of dust behind
the things i saw and felt and knew
while i retained my sanity
are foreigners to this new mind
which, to the world of real, is blind

i've reached my mental boiling point
the stuff called "real" is only steam
-floating away on the winds of change
never returning, always going
escaping from my cup of dreams-
not so real as it once seemed

i've turned away from common sense
forsaking wisdom and logical ways
order, which seemed to be (to me)
the epitome of intelligence
now occupies the lowest place
in my heirarchy of praise

i've missed my turn, gone down the path
of fantasy and wishful thought
i thrive in surreality
ignoring all reality's wrath
its scornful calls affect me not...
i do not heed the lessons it taught

reality is nothing more
to me than tiny wisps of smoke
shadowy visions without shape or form
clawing at my spirit's door
the doorkeeper's sympathy to evoke
while i, in my ethereal cloak
sleep tightly in my bed of dreams
and nothing i see is as it seems