Escape from reality.
Scan my ID, not my sunscreen UVB.
(Please sir)
I am lipstick, not lips-sealed.
Fake-First-Class,
Plastic-glass of wine,
Tastes better half way down.
(Only half way down)
Fading star already dead,
10 light-years ago, or so.
See all the little lights fading,
From way up above.
Turbulence shaking me,
Making me want to know,
Why I write in the dark
With all this light surrounding me
(?)
No traces behind
Fading faces flying with me
Hunting my sleep.
Are you on TV?
I’ll sit down and see
That your soul is still there
And while sleeping you stare
The ceiling, sinking in…
I’m holding on
It’s coming now

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