Ishkueshk

I dream of writing. Not writing stories, but writing about life itself, taken from the invisble but ever so full veins of the Universe. I dream of words so lively that they have their own pulse, beating to the inconstant and speedy rythm of the phrases' musicality. I dream of haemoglobin-coloured ink, full of oxygen, flooding from my heart and dampening the paper until it splashes onto the reader's face. I dream of massively transfusing emotions to happiness's anemics, and see their grey skin blush in pleasure. I dream of giving intravenous stardust to fill the void of their pupils with nebulae and galaxies. I dream....of unplugging a ge