The way lost

And he was falling into the nightmares,

poor way-lost, he used to carry pain,

pain-faded suffers within his skin.

He wished he had a skin!

Though he never could scream.

Still the light gave him a nail

blue-colored cotton nail.

He wished he could scape.

And he got a skull,

non-bone body of glimpses

and ever-bright glances

He wished He could see.

But, there he was trying,

blinded by the ways of the non-dead

with gorgeous jumps of glass.