Day Dream
This rusty nail pokes me,
In my back while I sleep,
Cutting my callous,
Wound so deep.
Lock jaw controls
What bends my reality,
Everything is or was undeniably,
Ghosts of sorrows technicality.
My blanket keeps me warm,
There's plenty inside,
Its as endless as,
The ocean is wide,
Yet somehow - always,
There's this chilling breeze.
Maybe it’s the rust,
Perhaps from the nail,
Combined with the breeze,
Calling my name,
That I'm cursed to walk these dreams.
Copyright © Justin Robbins | Year Posted 2011
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