Untitled

 Dream

 

1.As yourself,

Or in disguise,

You’ve got

The most beautiful eyes.

 

2.Is it real,

Or just a dream?

This night

Is nothing but a whim.

 

3.Are your eyes

Blue or dark green,

They are

Much deeper than they seem.

 

4.Worry not,

My lips are sealed,

This whim –

Too perfect to be killed.

Untitled

 Letter to someone

 

1.And even if it cannot be,

If no one sees what I can see,

They only see catastrophe,

I live for you, you live through me.

 

2.Despite everything I’ve been taught,

I learned to doubt, and doubt a lot;

Sometimes I question my own thought

If there’s a glowing piece I caught.

 

3.Despite everything that I’ve read,

To know my place, not go ahead,

How awfully we are misled,

Instead of slepping, better dead.

 

4.Even if it’s not meant to do,

I saw the place where you once grew,

That place is not meant to be true,

You live through me, I live for you.

Waiting for the bus

 Wings

 

1.There’s something outside these walls,

Been living in a village and it took its toll,

A luggage under my bed,

I didn’t choose this place, it’s killing me instead.

 

2.There’s something I can’t explain,

Must have been the weight of an imaginary chain,

Setting me free from prison

Of a thousand hands, must have been a legion.

 

3.There’s nothing quite like my wings,

They outweight all the imaginary things,

There’s nothing quite like these dreams,

Which rip tissue and tear ideas at their seams.