There was a song stuck in his head,

It played over and over and he feared it with dread,

For it was driving him crazy, the music and what the words said,

He ran towards oblivion and his mind clouded with grief and fear.

He flung himself from the cliff to end the music which into his brain did sear.

And yet he did not die, but awoke from the dream, soaked wet with sweat,

He was sick to his stomach for he thought he had seen hell,

It was of fire, demons moaning, searing heat and into this darkness he fell.

And now he was awake in a bed soaked with sweat, alive, to greet the day alive and alert.

He ran to the bathroom to vomit his vile stream of pus,

Barely making it back to bed, there again to roost,

He fell unconscious and back he drifted to the sleep that he had disturbed,

Back to the hell trip that he had escaped, a step back, a death interrupted but not curbed.

When is the dream, just a dream?

When are you really alert and awake?

Is it the dream you see or is it a dream you think you see?

Did you read this or dream it, you decide.

For now you are thinking of your mind and what the brain cells have inside.


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