He Fell Asleep At The Wrong Time. Poem by Not Long Left

Speeding down cement streams,
His eye's close and he dreams......

....Finds himself in a white room,
that's as bare as a tree in winter.
His legs are shackled,
From reams of pages from his
green chilhood journals.
Behind him a bird appears,
it moves in slow sad circles.
Pausing to release a single
salty tear.
His shackles turn into piles of
white sand.

At that moment he wakes,
As his car flies for the first time,
Before plunging down,
into the open mouthed hungry sea.