You pulled me in and held my head under
Inside this ocean of dreaming to wonder
What life could have been should the thoughts in my head...leak out into reality...
The cogs turning slowly
Rusted
Piecing together nightmares stained with crimson
They turn into dreams as the rust falls away
The ground below stained with what shall never be, futile dreams...
Her face far away inside the fog, her hand out of reach...
To hold...
Futile...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem