A sweaty-toothed madman
With a stare that pounds my brain
His hands reach out and choke me
And all the time he's mumbling
Mumbling truth
Truth like a blanket that always
Leaves you feet cold
You push it, stretch it,
It'll never be enough
You kick it, beat it,
It'll never cover any of us
From the moment we enter crying
To the moment we leave dying
It'll just cover your face
As you wail and scream
-"Todd Anderson"
"Dead Poets Society"
Note: I felt a particular "draw" to this poem, I don't know how to explain it, and as it didn't seem to have a title I plucked this one out of the air and, to me, it seems to kinda fit. I found, or more correctly, heard this poem while watching Dead Poets Society during my Creative Writing class a couple of months ago.
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