Inside Dreams

I feel like I am walking in my sleep. Or perhaps in someone else's sleep. It is very surreal here. The days are hot and fuzzy blue. The nights are dying cold but full of day's light. I don't know this city. I don't recognize my home, my room, my bed. Different. Unalike. They are aliens in my little world. A few times I caught myself trying to wake up and get out from this particular scene in order to find something I am familiar with. This turbulence of dreams are holding me a prisoner. In the dream of dreams I am drifting like fog above grass, moving slowly, taking my time to put my marks on many corners: "This is my territory!", I'd say. What is surreal could perhaps be sur(e)real.