my dreams are merely a fabrication of my thoughts. for starters, it is not raining. rather, the air is humid and the sun has risen to the centre of the sky, threatening to burn me. i am hungry and i am thirsty, but i am unable to provide my body with what it craves for. i am a poor, desperate human being but i am not nobel. i am arrogant and arrogance is what is keeping me away from running to the council to ask for the money that poor people, like i, are entitled to. in the meantime, i should find work to bring to my supposed 'laziness'. i would be judged like a picture book, only flicking through the surfaces but not reading between the lines. to them, there are no other words to describe me. i am a caricature of the stereotype of people like me.
i feel empty. i've always felt that way.
