sometimes i imagine 			i am neo
draped in clad black 			tinted shades
swallowing red kicking ass 		flying high
but mostly stopping bullets 		the bullet stopper

because hot lead and 			red don't mix
i don't get along 			with silver anyway

because i am tired of 			burying these childhood friends
being draped in clad black 		isn't what was expected
could i not just swallow 		the blue one sometimes
the pill that spikes illusion 		acts as a buffer
	between what's real and
    	 	what's no more than a reason
     			for empty casings

					i am 
					tired of 
					imagining now
					because he is the one
					and i am the one stuck here
					if there are two dimension
					is this one real    
					one where
					red and blue hang 
					from pants
					and he may never wake up
					where silver casings clash
					and palms and matrixes
					won't suffice
					where the oracle 
					doesn't 
					predict the means 
					and too
					many ends are met without
					the aid of those blue and 
					red swallowers 
					where
					i sometimes 
					imagine i am one
					who is not tired of burying 
					these childhood friends 
					and being draped in 
					clad black 
					i've grown
					tired 
					again