Dying Fantasy


Open a door it’s hot in here. Let the life that I don’t want wake me up. Let the sun that shines thru the pores of my skin until its red hot. Open the door let my soul back in, the leaves use to be green in bright and flow in the wind. After I wake up its fall again, brown crispy leaves. Open the door so I can breathe, breathe one more breath before I decide to breathe no more. I have to live for a while at least long enough to raise my child, so sweet innocent and meek. However that would be the case if it was true, I would rather smoke my lungs dry, let them blow up. Don’t wake me up from this dream; let me keep living this dying fantasy.



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