Owen Smith

Lucid Day-Dreams Of Crimson

Mind trapped within itself.
Isolated from all sense of reality.
I ponder the question by myself.
Of life and its duality.

The perpetual motion that is life and death.
Closer we creep with every breath.
Our purpose for existance, if any at all.
Our need for war over the petty and small.

In this world its blood in, blood out.
The flow of blood is time,
And the stars scattered about.
No one will even here you shout.

A little blood never hurt anyone
So give me your arm and we'll have some fun.
Just a little to tickle the tongue.
Trust me its easier when your young.

It won't hurt.
Not the slightest bit.
You won't remember a thing.
Its all just a dream.......

Poem Submitted: Sunday, August 8, 2010

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