Whispers, like cobweb on my face, brush away
Whispers, talking about what could be, hush up
Whispers like stumbling in the dark reaching, move aside
Whispers incessantly buzzing like Mosquitos, shoo
Whispers drawing me to the light, too bright
Whispers snoring peaceful sleep, wake up
Whispers fading away like rejected dogs, come back
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013, written entirely on my iPhone.