Nothing's Real

Nothing's real, except for all the living nightmares, in an imaginary head
Of conjurations and the sophistry of prophetic words of thoughts unsaid
The world outside is an empty space of shade borne from mourning mist
Holographic apparitions of spectres that have never been, but will persist
I'm on an inside looking out, but where I am? I have no hope to ascertain
Neither here nor there, or anywhere else, but if I 'was', I would be insane
God bless myself, but I'm merely an illusion, in a collusion without control
Something from nothing, but the sum of the parts cannot make me whole
Reality's, non-actuality, is the dancing strings pulled by the puppet master
Enabling the fallacy of aspirations, of what might be, like a whether-caster
And unreality has never been anything more than a stochastic hint of light
Lost in an effulgent nebulous ocean and so far distant, that it's out of sight