wake up.
the room is cold, the
air is silent. and you
are laying there,
wrapped in a sea of your own
imagination.

this is realistic illusion,
the little boys talking to the little girls
the word of love was uttered.
this is realistic illusion.

maybe it is time
to learn of a lie.
the room is whitehot, and
the sound will not cease.
you're wired up,
floating in space.
maybe it's time to come
down, and
go to sleep.

04/16/2004

Posted on 04/17/2004
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams