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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #1324626
A sort poem I wrote based on "Paranoid: A Chant" by Stephen King.
Dreamer

I dream of missing faces
Eyes too blind to see themselves
I dream of lost races
They kept breathing after their lungs were gone
Who tells them the old one’s secret fantasies
Twisted around me like a snake on my neck
Nobody left to pray
Their gods worshipped themselves

I dream the nothing dream
Sick and mutilated, they still come
I dream I can’t feel my rage
Screaming at you, we are one

Writing all the secrets down
His book is black with ink
No one left to stop him now
No one left to think
No one left to feel this way
Why should you care anyway

I dream of dead gods
Tracing the scars on their bodies
Tells a story, like a book
So many keys they never took
So many stars, can’t seem to look

She’s made of bits and pieces
Put together with old needles and stitches
Break the bottle in your hand
Can’t seem to think, can’t understand

I dream of summer shores
And autumn leaves of gray
I can’t help but wonder why
It has to be this way

You be the shepherd
I’ll bring the knives
Let’s try to figure out
What cattle took our lives

Blood in the air
Blood in the ground
Blood’s gonna tell you
Just what you have found

On top of my mountain
I’m king of my pain
Inside of my fortress
Is where I’m ashamed
Time’s running out now
I have to be quick
I’ll make you see
Through the eyes of a lunatic


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