poetry from a depressed person

chapter two: dream

i seen a girl and a man in a station. the girl had dragged the man with the phone into the tracks with her. i remember feeling fear and panic. the man with the phone struggled to come off the tracks. the woman holding onto him with a smile on her face. sadistic yet happy.

happy that she was about to feel sweet relief. 

the man with the phone was scared. he called for help, but no words poured out of his lips. i ran towards them. i couldn’t go on the tracks. i watched them like every other person in the crowd. 

the man with the phone had tears pouring down his now pale face. pale from fear.

pale from knowing he was going to die.

a train was coming.. the train started honking its horn. the driver no attempt at slowing down. that's when it happen, that's when they died. 

the train sped through their bodies. left behind were gruesome parts spread across the track. blood. blood everywhere. my mind in my dream and in real time are scarred and i don’t know why.

i’m scared.

my face showing nothing but a petrified expression. limbs and guts smeared the floor of the tracks like some sort f modern art painting. my mind is spinning. 

i bolt up the stairs and find myself in another dimension; another world; a new place. i'm now flying and soaring across this new place. my body being hit with the cold fog that spread over this new world. i look down, people were chasing after me on foot.

i didn’t do anything did i?

they wanted to kill me, kill me because i didn’t save the man with the phone. why do i still remember this dream? this dream happened so long ago. i remember specks and ripples of this dream. but is it weird to say i feel scarred? 

i feel trauma from something that didn’t happen in real time. my third eye was telling me something in this dream.

i feel the stares of the crowd. disgusted and riddled with anger.

anger because i didn’t save the man with the phone.