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 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 he only knew now what he knew then
I'm open
I'm open
Come in, come in
Come in, come in
I'm open
I'm open
Come in, come in
Come in, come in
Lying sideways atop crumpled sheets with no covers, he decides to dream
Dream up a new self for himself
