Venting, dreaming and reflecting

Venting

I stare at the moon and try to fly, dreaming of freedom and the fresh air consuming my pride. I'm keeping my dreams real with in a place that leads me to different worlds where I can feel free. Cold air and the warmth of their hearts surrounding me. Florida the one place I'm going to leave. I'm going to runaway to a place where autumn is all season and all the summers which have deceived me, with burning flesh and no beauty, have disappeared. Every hope and desire will meet me in the fire. I'm a pyromaniac and this is what I acquire. I am a liar in denial of idealistic fantasies craving aesthetic beauty's, through friends and codependency. I have story that I hold in a mental diary, a diary seldom to the visionary who sees. God damn double life, but whats the point of bringing others into struggle and strife, through your solvable social issues and  "instinct" which tells you whats wrong or right. I want to go back, back to the time before closed doors and empty floors were cluttered with thoughts and actions I love and regret, maybe I really did get my feet wet. Hopefully, this time it shall not be long lost, through insecurities and wrong apples way past my reaching height. God,  do I miss the old life.