A man lies in his bed in a room with no door
He waits, hoping for a presence; something, anything to enter
After spending half his life searching, he still felt as blank
As the ceiling at which he stared
He is alive, but feels absolutely nothing
So, is he?
When he was six he believed that the moon overhead followed him
By nine, he had deciphered the illusion, trading magic for fact
No tradebacks...
So this is what it's like to be an adult
If he only knew now what he knew then...
I'm open...
Come on in...
I'm open...
Come on in...
I'm open...
Lying sideways atop crumpled sheets and no covers he decides to dream...
Dream up a new self for himself...