Night of the curtain

Twisting, writhing, yawning,
the images flicker on.
The zombie rocks, to a slow rythm
the glint of metal falls.
The sun wouldn't dare delay,
its ways are absolute truth.
But what if the curtain is drawn?
What if the truth is but to brood?
Things dealt and done with,
Are always higher than the dreams,
But dreams are inside your curtains,
and dark images are mine it seems.

One life

There is this life, and then there are more,
who knows.
I know, you know, so I know too.
Unfair, short, unclear, undeniably exciting,
this isnt what its supposed to be.
Where are you when I wake and sigh.
Are those the beats?
Or is it just me, high.
We do things what we tell ourselves not to,
and then there's addiction.
We are shamed whether or not we ought to,
you are already on the middle page dear,
dont close it now, what did u expect?
this is what it is, non-fiction.