When he turns off the light,
He sees no one inside.
Blackness of purity, purity of chaos.
He still sees those eyes,
Something looms over his mind
That he sometime dreamed about,
That he sometime thought about,
That he sometime uttered about.
And in those dreams,
When blood rushed through his brain,
When he experiences it all over again,
When he jumps out of it to see
What he had been through,
He then feels and comes to know
A daunting fact—
The hidden depression he knows,
When the past still haunts
And hunts for its prey.
Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 11:57 PM UTC
When he turns off the light,
He sees no one inside.
Blackness of purity, purity of chaos.
He still sees those eyes,
Something looms over his mind
That he sometime dreamed about,
That he sometime thought about,
That he sometime uttered about.
And in those dreams,
When blood rushed through his brain,
When he experiences it all over again,
When he jumps out of it to see
What he had been through,
He then feels and comes to know
A daunting fact—
The hidden depression he knows,
When the past still haunts
And hunts for its prey.
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