the past is present in this <br />pitchfork freudian dream, you <br />learn to skedaddle and giggle, <br />as this bipoler rain hits your <br />hands then feet. <br />still you cry, i cant escape me, <br />you hear me, i cant escape me. <br />the past is present in this small <br />room, he paints all the walls white, <br />she paints them gray and brown, <br />and they cry, i cant escape me, <br />you hear me, i cant escape me, <br />then this dream ends, and this <br />bipoler storm turns into nothing <br />more, , then a small wave.<br /><br />DAVID GERARDINO<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pitchfork-freudian-dream/
