morpheus, morpheus, morpheus.
they whisper, plead, beseech.
take me away, free me, let me join you.
he sprawls on a couch with hooded eyes,
purple blue bruises accentuating the intensity of them.
they are bright, but full of longing, pain, suffering.
he hears his worshippers call out,
1am; please i beg of you
2am; what have i done to displease you, tell me
3am; why will you not release me?
4am; does this give you pleasure, my pain?
5am; i hate you.
he can do nothing but hear their requests, he lays on his moth-eaten couch; hands gripping his head, the pain, oh the pain.