I used to dream of a faraway land
And a palace so big and grand
That all come near
Trembled in fear
Of its great power
Once…

I used to imagine a beautiful princess
Wearing the most extravagant dress
We used to dance
And she would prance
About with my beautiful flower
Once…

My room was a dungeon
My glasses made me a surgeon
I played during night and day

The chandlier was a sun
Everything was fun
Until that faithful day

Now I sit down on my computer
Writing report after report
Wondering where everything went

Flowing through the motions
Song after song
Watching my time being spent

And I ask myself
Once, just once more
I wish I could see
Past this veil of ‘reality’
And be back to the good old me

I try and I try
But it never changed
That room still looks the same
I’m not a surgeon
Its not a dungeon
And the chandelier is out of place

I go back to sleep
And sometimes I see
Flashes of who I used to be
The good old me
With eyes full of glee
Oh, full of joy was he

Once
He was once full of joy
Once

I am not who I say I am but who my writing says I am; my characters define me. Like puppets in a play, they tell you who pulls the strings. I'm not who I say I am; I'm who you think I am.

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