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Wishful Thinking
Folder:
Feelings Fantasy,
on the border of the unreal.
My mind, on a teeter-totter of sanity.
Real, or unreal?
Black or white?
Sanity, or insanity?
That is the question,
from a Shakespeare play.
That is the question.
Or is it?
It could be the answer.
My thoughts and emotions.
Wild horses in a field.
No one to tame them.
Wild horses are running in
my head.
Not sure what to think.
The music is dimmed by
them.
The heavy guitars are no match.
But the lyrics stand true.
Saying my thoughts.
But who to say them to?
No one is here who
understands.
Will I ever find him?
One to hold in my arms,
as if we were hopeless
romantics.
Eddie and Susannah Dean.
Black and white.
Young lovers in a hostile world.
A young soul, lost in the rubble.
My soul is that soul, with
no where to go, no one to look
for, or have them looking for
me.
Alone. My only rescuers
are fake. Characters from
a story. Never to be met.
Except in my head.
Where I am tortured by
the single truth, they
aren’t real.
