I drink a glass and play back the story.
Flashes of horror arise in my brain.
It’s always so cloudy or pouring down rain.
The day seems to be getting so very boring.
Same old song, same old story.
I pick up my pen and escape’s on the rise.
No more hell or hearing lost cries.
Into the paper I lose track of time.
It’s brighter and whiter with little blue lines.
I’m floating now, on top of my page.
I’m playing a character on top of a stage.
The pen is so smooth as it glides through the pages.
I visit the decades and roam through the ages.