Tristan Robert Lange

Pottersville

I just woke up in a black and white dream,

Where all that is good has been made a fright—

Where the good get their wish to not be born—

I am alert in this black and white dream.

Thus, I mutely scream through a soundless void,

And nobody can hear that I am here

As I vainly scream through this soundless void.

I am alone in this black and white dream,

Alone while around familiar people—

Thus, I hoarsely yell through a shapeless void,

And nobody knows me, though I am here.

I am so scared in this black and white dream,

Where the good feel the harm in being born.

I am here around familiar people—

But they’ve all become twisted and ugly,

Thus, I blankly stare through a gaping void,

And nobody cares that I’m even here.

I’m imprisoned in a black and white dream,

Where the good eat their wish to not be born—

Stuck unknown around familiar people—

In a corrupt world where rich moguls reign

And people all become twisted ugly,

We desp’rately stare through a lonely void

Where nobody knows us or wants us here.

The good, out of luck on not being born—

Stuck unknown around familiar people—

Are dying here in a black and white dream,

Embodied by a tangerine horror

Deceiving a world where rich moguls reign.

We no longer scream through the hopeless void

Where nobody knows us or wants us here.

The good have slowed, long ago, being born

Into hell around familiar people—

Longing to live in a black and white dream,

Where all that was good has been made a fright.

© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.