its cold where i live
and i don't mean in a city or a town
i mean where my soul lives
my body lives in a city made of lights and dreams
while my soul could only dream of having dreams and touching lights
there are days where sounds are just my own
songs are made by the slow thumping of  my deceasing heart
water that seem to only come from the creases of my dark eyes
tears
i call them
my mind begins to question whether or not its alive
alive
dead
alive
dead
alive
dead
it keeps repeating.
reality becomes a distortion
make believe becomes reality
death seems easy to grip
easy to hold
easy to love
easy to accept
and as my soul watches it's body walk around the streets made of lights and dreams
it curls itself ready to go *****