Separated.

Mingling with the past
dreams of future lasts
and no creative present
can be.

Arrows of choice
around
too much sound,
no voice.

Beg the feeling mercy
for guidance on reality
seemingly dreamy.

The difference
between choosing
to be lost and being it
are thin...

Need of fly
but this legs keep
pushing me around.  
  
Some beating maybe,
another body surely.

It's a lonely place.