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 stared
he is alive, but feels absolutely nothing
so is he?
when he was six he believed that the moon over head followed him
by nine he had deciphered the allusion, trading magic for fact
no trade backs
so this is what it's like to be an adult
if he only knew now
what he knew then