The people who this was written about, will never understand it.

It will always be dreams, not reality that counts in the end. You can be a stand up guy, feet firmly planted on good old Mother Earth and yet the only thing you will be remembered for is being so damn boring people would rather slit their wrists than stay in a room alone with you.

I float, I spin, I swirl and you look at me with a distain that is laughable. You think that because I say nothing to you that I do not argue or try to justify my actions, that I must be simple. You could never wrap your mind around the simple fact that I do not care enough about you to acknowledge your poor attempts at wit. After all, how can you be angry with someone who is so far down the mental food chain from you that they might as well be retarded? Some may but I, personally, never laugh at the mentally challenged. Nor do I allow them their silly torments.

I will take the time to warn you of something, just this once. You should always remember to torment those of your own ilk. Don't attempt to expand your tiny world into mine. While your presence would be but an annoying haze, quick to dissipate, my world would bleed into yours! It would bleed a bright; vibrate red that would wash out all that dull grey, reality you love so much, causing that flaccid muscle you refer to as a brain to implode.
You are warm and safe, Pinocchio; don't try to be a real boy. It's much too scary for you here.