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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Monday, May 25, 2009


It’s got to be the memory of a dream,
It couldn’t have happened to me.
How my mind, so used to worms,
Could have imagined a life so sweet,
I can’t see.

I see myself holding a hand,
My gaze locked with another,
I feel a perfume driving me crazy,
I hear promises poured into me;
A love so pure could possibly
Be the invention of my crazed mind
But never a reality.
I see a kid-me
Tossed gently in the air,
Surrounded by sounds of glee
I feel a soft breast on my baby-palms
And the taste of sweet warm milk;
There’s also a big man
Buying me bicycle and basketball
And a bunch of kids playing hide and seek,
A childhood so complete,
No it could not have been for me.
Proud old eyes fixed on a teen,
A shelf lined with trophies,
Lads running after each other
For boxes of tiffin,
A huge school building
Smellin like a heaven of comfort,
So different from the place
I now live in.

These rosy pictures flashing in my mind
That they call the past, a memory
Seem to me like the ruins of a dream
Coz with open eyes there only worms
Crawling in my head
And when I look ahead,
A deep dark hole is all I have.

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