At times I feel lost

drifting,

wishing,

hoping,

dreaming,

for that tender voice to soothe my lost soul of its loneliness and ineptitude

like the sanctity of an angel…

But with greed eating the souls of our youth I only wonder where I am in this lonely world…

Is this hell I’m living in

or a nightmare, suffering to wake…

Each drop of blood brings pain to the surface and crude hope…

Hope that my ephemerality will one day rest in peace.

A utopia of joy waiting on that final westbound train…

Not all wounds heal, but I try to absolve the scars of my past, dousing that crimson flame to a tolerable rage…

One day I’ll wake from all of this…

Is it really just a dream?