I'm one of the mindless massess
of quiet sitting readers
all of us on our bunks of metal
passing our time away.
The will to move is lacking
as nothing feels as real
as living in lands of dreaming
and reading not to feel.
The haunting pat floats through me
it works to make me weep
while the present gives no options
of loves that I can keep.
Pretending someone's out there
who loves me all the time
one who'll never leave me
no matter what my crimes.
It's just a game to make me sad
and wish my life to fleeting
it keeps me lieing in my bed
to waste my life with reading.
Maybe all these boks I eat
will change my life somehow
perhaps the words will make me glad
I'm living in the now.
But all these things are stranded dreams
which keep me on my bunk
to waste my youth with other's words
I pray it brings me luck.
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