A Playful Misconception, A Childhood’s Dream

In a sea of a million faces, I blindly see only yours.
I belong in a home of desolation, I am to be called "wretched".
I dream of dreams, of dreams that are called nightmares.
To have a beating heart, is to have that aching need.

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I am a crow, perched high up above.
Hungry from a desolating island.
Desperate for a hint of sanity.
Searching, screaming, always in silence.

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The world below, like a desert storm.
Through these eyes, a worthless prey.
I long to fly higher, above all existence.
When I crash and burn, the maker shall know of my predicament.