Monday, August 8, 2011
He catches dreams in struggling minds
He extracts them into a darkened one
Sends them back into our thoughts
Will haunt our reality and kill us slowly
Not going crazy is more than lucky!
Does he even exist?
It was my same question
Once, he grabbed my wrist
His grey abstract existence,
Only I could see
My luck has fleed freely
I gave my left strength as a wimp
I can feel he writes my obituary
My hopes has turned to grim scheme