imaginary dread

feelings of a non-believing believer.

I sit still on your doorstep
And I dream of flying away
Let my dreams be all I have
Let it be what makes me stay

Is it you that grips me so
Or is it my hope of the pay
Perhaps its my imaginary dread
Of slow and painful decay

Perhaps subconsciously
I'm hopeful again that today
The curse will turn into bliss
Futile be it, as it may

But I'm patient anyhow
If not right now
Then maybe some other time
Some other day