the past is present in this
pitchfork freudian dream, you
learn to skedaddle and giggle,
as this bipoler rain hits your
hands then feet.
still you cry, i cant escape me,
you hear me, i cant escape me.
the past is present in this small
room, he paints all the walls white,
she paints them gray and brown,
and they cry, i cant escape me,
you hear me, i cant escape me,
then this dream ends, and this
bipoler storm turns into nothing
more, , then a small wave.
DAVID GERARDINO
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pitchfork-freudian-dream/
