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Flooding Dry

Marcy

Bloodshot eyes look back at me,
Again awakened by a dream,
And on the way to the bathroom’s mirror,
Am I hearing my own screams,
I turn to take a look around,
Yet I know there’s no one there,
Was what I heard a memory,
Or the voice of my own fear.
 
 
Rain is falling just outside,
It pelts the window pane,
Something not held in the dream,
And I ask myself if I’m sane,
I stand in utter silence,
The room filled with pitch black night,
Somehow it feels I’m not alone,
There’s a figure reflecting light,
 
 
Is every night the very same,
Though tonight there’s a storm outside,
A different frame for the same picture,
That in the darkness hides,
The bloodshot eyes are real,
The storm outside is real too,
But why do I have the feeling,
That the figure I saw was you.
 
 
Has the dream become reality,
But how could that be true,
Because in the dream I hold you close,
And my life is full with you,
Am I caught between awake and asleep,
Because the days hold so much pain,
I open the window so I can see,
If what I heard was just the rain.
 
 
Confusion starts to take the mind,
Yet a movement catches my eye,
There I see the figure again,
Is it real or some sort of lie,
The figure walks straight towards me,
Yet not a sound is made,
Is this just some sort of trick,
That a broken heart has played.
 
 
I blink my eyes so they adjust,
Soggy footprints cross the floor,
Leading to a figure standing,
By the bathroom door,
It’s then I notice that I’m in bed,
And my pillows soaking wet,
And that figure no longer seen,
Was the love I can’t forget.

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