They call you crazy

If you can see ghosts and monsters  in person, But if you see them in dreams, You're simply a 'terror dreamer'.

A real collection Of real dreams, put into poems.

(In progress, it's takeing time to copy these into the coputer)

When I cry

I feel the warmth of my tears.

They comfort me

The clock keeps ticking

yet  I do not cease to cry.

The people around me,

they walk on by

as I cry oh as I cry

They turn a blind eye to my tears

The people I know, the people I love

They walk on by

As I cry oh as I cry.

I stand in a white room

With no windows

Or sun that can light the eerie gloom

The gloom I feel in my soul,

In my soul, I feel a pain.

But Why But Why?

Two stands with white roses

Stood by the ends of a coffin

Dressed in purple,

painted in black.

But inside lay a girl

A girl I knew, I know.

But my mind fails to identify who.

who? who? WHO!?

But that girl is not dead,

No, she breaths!

But she is surly dying.

Her eyes open and look at me.

Dressed in a fine white dress

her skin white as a pearl,

Unlike me, unlike me!

Covered in a black dress

I am, I am.

The same as the girl,

but yet I am black,

black, black, like a raven

She breaths, in a whisper,

that shakes my soul

"Stop, you must stop, or I will die!"

At that moment I am thrust into her and I lay dead

She was me, I am her

and yet we are separate

But now we are both dead.