By: Fredrik Zander

I can’t remember the name of the game;

I just remember to wear and to bear
My shame,
In someone else’s name.

To see apart from a point of view,
Try develop a photograph
Of dew,
For someone old and new.

Holy waters, stones unturned,
Ancient quarters, bones unburned.

I just came in by the door one day,
Leaving all of your guild astray
In vain;
Alas I hide in an ocean of pain.
The antidote’s like a wasted wine;
Tries its best not to intertwine
In fear,
A hologram in a world I smear.