Unplug meI'm too youngtoo oldtoo coldto stoke the fire.Wake me upfrom this requiem, midnight thrashinggag and scream.Closed eyes and open memories. Stitch me up i am tornasunder.A folded paperripped, shredded andseparating with the wind.Do you hear the thunder?Wet tear dropsraining, pouring, falling,blurring the lines betweenreal and illusionLeaving;pull me home,bring me closeand tightinto the world.Your gaze for a blanketin the breeze of discontentchill spentand warming from the outside in.