Shrouded bodies,
Crowded places,
This isn’t the world I had dreamt of
When I was a child in the head,
I used to think a little more,
And sleep a little less,
Yet my dreams never failed
To bring a future in my bed.
Shiny pearls of stories;
They made promises when they spoke,
Just to take me
To a place called ‘somewhere else’,
And I still remember
Those tiny men
Who would march with my hand –
Fingers that carved faces in my brain
Then my fingers would never feel the same;
They had people hiding in them;
They were always there
With me, for me.
There were battles fought,
People loved, then forgotten,
Only to be remembered again;
Heroes who never wilted
Or did anything ever wrong,
They didn’t know how to give up.
Who knew a child had more of us
Than we have of us in us?
Sleep deprived,
I walk alive,
Wondering where did I go?
While the bustle of corpses
Makes their way
To a path the lively wrote.
This isn’t home;
This doesn’t feel like the place
I had written back in time,
Maybe I went missing.