Does anyone actually believe in dreams anymore?

Holding on to something in the hope that one day it might just come true, despite everything being against it ever happening?

It seems that dreams are merely cheap pieces of crockery in the hand of an uncaring, sick-humored world.
Do we exist as anything more than wheels in this massive and cold machine that is the universe? Or is the machine simple this society we have made?
Step out of line and face the rewards. This world beats us into submission with lies, Twisted and meaningless words. Giving us false hopes. An Indian giver.

Leavers, takers. Takers. Takers. Takers.
Move in, change everything to suit us without caring about anyone else.
Move in. Take over. Mine now. Mine. Mine, Mine. Not ours. Mine.
And mine alone to do as i see fit.

What were they thinking? What are they thinking? What are we thinking?
We live in this place of ashes and filth. Strive to get to the top of the hill.
Dung hill that it is. Get to the top only to realize that it was merely a foothill beside an invisible mountain of shit.
Care, only to realize that there was nothing worth caring for.
Love, only to realize it was only a word, a puff of air.
Live, only to have everything fall around you in a pile of dust.

What hope is there in this place of death?
Only the cold hard earth, embracing our tired bones like a lover.
Until they become her. Until they are her body.
We become one with the system that gives us life, lets us dream and then conquers us totally.
Beaten down, as if with an invisible hand.

This place is all shit. Shit, Bones and Ash.
This place is cold. Death, Fear and Cold, pure Cold.
Rejoice! Rejoice!

Dance naked in this place of ash and death.
Laugh and mock sister death!
Welcome her into your house, embrace her warmly, enjoy the feeling of the warmth dissipating into her cold hard stones.
Eat! Drink! Make merry! For tomorrow she comes to take you away.
To fuck you. To make you her own.
Bones. Bones and Ash.

"Life is a prison of poverty and aborted dreams, It is nothing but a slow progress to my place beneath the soil, it is a plot by God to disenchant us with the flesh, it is a brief flame in a bowl of oil between one darkness and another that ends it"

Youth. Dripping away as if from a leaky tap.
My beautiful Mother and Father.
My family. The only family i have ever known.
It's like looking at a picture in the museum, looking like life, but only a snapshot of its glory, rendered down into a single moment that repeats for infinity.
Hold on to those moments, they tell me. Hold on. Hold on to dear life.

Bars. We live our life behind bars. It's almost ironic that people go to places called "bars" to drink. Become stupefied and blinded, held in the machine with chemical pleasure and harmless dead community.
We are born into bars.
I still remember the cot i used to sleep in when i was very very small. Bars all around. Like a small prison, which seems like a larger prison for the very small, i don't doubt. But still a prison.
I still remember school, with a fence around it, more bars.
To keep people in? Or keep people out? I never could work that one out.
University? More bars.
I look out my window and see fences. More bars. The glass like invisible bars.
I look at myself and see the bars i have in my life.
The things that defeat me and hold me in.
Ever so slowly coming further and further together - until that day when i am finally crushed.

Does anyone believe in dreams anymore?
Or do they only happen in books..
Does anyone believe in Joy anymore?
Is there some chance? Some thin sliver of something to grasp onto and pull towards?
I'm reaching, but all I'm finding is thin air.

Does anyone believe anymore????
Please, There must be some hope somewhere.