Am I real or am I the creation of something real?
Am I real because I’m a real dream? Am I the prince of dreams, the most real and automatic? A special dream? The chief of dreams? Is my job to be the captain?
Am I a dream like a picture projected and resting on a screen? Resting on what? A human animal?
Am I so overly complicated that it muddies my pureness as a being? Is this because I know better but refuse to choose it every time? Is this the way it’s supposed to be? Is it that perfection would not be a reward but a curse?