Spectator

want to be real,

to me,

saying B,

and still saying B,

without falling in C.

I am numb,

in a falling dream of mine,

that has passed the time,

but still has not flourished,

the way I meant it to go.

I'm yet to reborn,

but as time call,

I will know run,

as fast as I can,

to catch the last bus,

before it's too late,

to gain my dreams of freedom,

and free me from my old self.

It's not my idea that shall I defend,

but only the logic behind it,

the whys and the known,

and in rational irrationality,

I'll have to take me aside,

and remind me my own story,

and where I have to go,

and where, not to.