i feel the practicality flowing through my blood
take a picture, run away and keep moving on
a hundred yards from finding freedom
yet it draws me back, the scent remains on my clothes
and suddenly my senses are heightened
i can hear it, smell it, but my eyes are sewn shut
it circles me, tearing my world into pieces
these are things i don't dream
things that i might not be able to grasp
i would rather not go there at all
but the voice rises up the decibel meter
haunting the air with a call for the truth
we are finally face to face
i stare into black hole eyes, a bottomless pit
of emotions and rationals forcing me in
a bead of sweat drips down my brow
falling on dormant skin tucked under a sheet
of uncertainties masking the surface and the truth
the cry of hunger does the job
awaking a soul lost in a fantasy
of what is and what should never be
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