So when compared to what is, / and what might be, / dreams come and go nightly, / but all dreams, / for all their wonder, / are unsure,
The Itch That Can’t Be Scratched
can you bear the truth?
With the over-abundant, / Looming clouds, / Trapping light,
I know my life is but a short rotation away from death. / Without air I shall surely turn to stone. / Will this suffocation be my decay?
I walk this world as a ghost from the past / Expericencing the torture of memories; / the shadows that seem to last, / The days ger harder,…
This feeling of complete amour / for life itself makes me wake in my sleep, / makes me shiver for it shakes me to my core,
Can you hear the sound of river? / Can you see the pieces of sliver? / Can you already feel the shiver? / Man, what kind are you of giver? …
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