In the upper corner of the attic i live in
among countless loads of ideas and opinions
draped from a cross beam to dry
are hanging some dreams of mine
soaked with all of the wicked insinuations
and the hopelessness I've found in this situation
old wounds never quite healed
scars my day dreams revealed
calc teachers don't understand the ghosts that i'm seeing
don't see them circle the dreams in the ceiling
hung to be protected and stored
dreams should have been shield and sword
weapons against the hopelessness that eats me
climb in through the closed window and greets me
a guard against the status quo
of broken dreams and vanquished hope
