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R.I.P.
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July 2010
I'm up there floating, gliding, through the skies,
sliding by the whispering souls, that refuse to remain just dead hands,
rip up under R.I.P., ghoulishly creeping their way in my direction,
inspecting them, most surely dead, but still they seem to come for me,
I pinch my arm and stub my toe, the pain is much too real,
I must be awake for this dream to shake up my mind,
flup me sideways, world turns up a slight degree,
yet still enough for me to see.
