I still have the nightmare
Of waking up to you and your
Dry, cold face, just as
That man in the paper did.

Your death grey eyes looking
At my pale blue ones,
As if to say, "I'm here,
Do you recognize me?"

My eyes are painfully focused
On your decrepit face,
Whilst yours are wondering away
To a shadow on the wall.

In five minutes, either one of
Our lives could end
At this moment and you would
Still feel nothing.

Your family's forced love can't Protect you from creul reality.
I then blink to take the images And thoughts in, and I wake.