Ironically Dreaming Poem by Brittany Alexis Murphy

When you stare through your foggy windows with your blank blue eyes,
what do you see?
Life won't be changing too fast, unless you take a peek into the Looking Glass.
Fear not, my dear. The secret art of ghost is not yet here.
Do you wonder? Because I do, everytime I catch myself looking at you.
I ponder on the words you scribble too quick across torn-out pages of that journal.
I wonder..are those words meant for me?
Stretch that smile alittle farther and make peace, I wanna make a story out of this plead.
I saw you running down the railroad tracks, the ones where we made that chain become intact.
It still lays upon my chest, part of it embedded in my neck.
You stopped on the rail, slowly came to the stopping point.
I was there, for I breathed down your jawline, whispering secret sounds into all of your joints.
And though you turned from me, to glance behind;
I saw your scars, I felt them sting and linger in the goodbye.
What I would give to touch the wisps of your hair, smell your scent that flows through the air.
Have your cold skin measure over divine, breathe in what should be mine.
That shadow figure is there again.
Don't make a sound, hush, don't give in.
Keep your head down, cause' we're not safe yet.
Don't make a sound, be good for me..
We could possibly find a way, to be out of here.
Tell the Gods of your Lies.
I'll be there to hold your hand, so never ever be afraid to stand.
Everybody died last night, but I think you took it well.
You cried for a little while, then you actually stood and sighed a farewell.
You tried to run away, but paralyzation stopped you.
I feel the heat, I think I'm terrified,
I see the vertex, and I realize..
'You' is me, and I am you.
I fall into the dark depths of the forbidden in no view.
If I die tonight, I might be okay. I don't want to breathe the poison of this earth another day.
I shoot upright from this bed, sweat beads placed upon the hairline of my head.
I gasp for air, and I think I'm fine, but that may just be the feeling of still being alive.
I collapse back down under, yeilding myself not to cry.
I'll live between the fake worlds in the City of Lies.
I shake in my sleep.
I do this all night.
I pray to myself, maybe it'll be alright.
It's almost over, I want to win this fight.

But I can't stop this Nightmare from being typed.