A man lies in his bed in a room with no door
He waits, hoping for a presence...something, anything, to enter.
After spending half his life searching,
He still felt as blank as the ceiling at which he's staring.
He is alive, but feels absolutely nothing,
So is he?

When he was six, he believed that the moon overhead followed him,
By nine, he had deciphered the illusion, trading magic for fact,
No trade-backs.
So this is what it's like to be an adult.
If only he knew now, what he knew then.

Lying sideways atop crumpled sheets and no covers,
He decides to dream...dream up a new self, for himself.