Dreams Like Warehouse Windows Your life set aside like an unfinished painting or a half baked poem and you are vaguely concerned that there are more days behind you than in front and when you ponder the hours and the weeks and  the wasted years there is a bitterness you have never known before the unwritten novel of your heart left in some forgotten ally of your soul where some punk kid throws rocks through your abandoned dreams like warehouse windows your days spent in fear of some nameless formless thing that dogs your hours and haunts your sleep all your time spent wondering when it will trace the trail of blood back to the place in your dreams where you hide.