A decade behind me
I dreamt of one in advance
dreamt of three in advance,
Now standing in two advanced
I shiver, I fumble.

Darkness grips uncertainty
Innocence dreamt of roses,
Those of which I received
hand delivered,
Thorns brighter than blood
pricked wit
bleeds uncertainty,
Gushes insecurity.

One decade, couple years
I rewind, I remind,
of dreamt of roses
none of which stung
but smelt of hope of freedom.

Now I, now we fumble,
fumble in unison
housed in dimmed tunnels,
Tell us when tunnels were ever bright,
Reaching for impossible
flaws of youth,
Is the beauty of youth,
Reaching for roses
games of Russian roulette

Oh how we love to bleed
how I love to prick wit
how we dream of new decades
How we love to play,
play a dangerous game.

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