lying in front of you?
A pencil moving light and slowly,
beautifully but tired, over the sheet?
Drawing circles in your head,
but on the paper nothing is written?
The head upon the pillow,
the eyes are nearly closed. Dreaming far away.
In this dream, nothing has changed. Bright it is,
and oh, so wonderful.
Dreams turns into nightmares. Nightmares into reality.
Reality is once again worse than dreams.
What is then worse than empty lined paper?
Reality I tell you my friend.