These sudden surrenders of unconsciousness seeks out my fears.
Drunk off of my own indecisiveness
It occurs to me,
redundantly,
You lurk inside my dreams.
A pity that seems.
For I hate to dream of you.
The way you run your fingers through your hair
Poor little boy in my nightmare.
A Pity it is,
When you are sunrise, sunsets and
Beautiful breezes against my skin
and I am storm warnings and hurricanes
I cannot let you in.