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a man lies in his bed in a room with no door |
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he waits hoping for a presence, something, anything to enter |
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after spending half his life searching, he still felt as blank |
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as the ceiling at which he's staring |
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he's alive, but feels absolutely nothing |
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so, is he? |
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when he was six he believed that the moon overhead followed him |
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by nine he had deciphered the illusion, trading magic for fact |
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no tradebacks... |
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so this is what it's like to be an adult |
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if he only knew now what he knew then... |
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i'm open |
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i'm open |
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come in |
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come in |
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come in |
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come in |
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i'm open |
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i'm open |
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come in |
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come in |
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come in |
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come in |
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lying sideways atop crumpled sheets and no covers |
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he decides to dream... |
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dream up a new self for himself |
