A dead man told me to become a writer
so a writer i became.
i assumed that he would live for ever
but every man has his day.

He’d make me feel significance
he’d make the executioner go away
The one who’d put the children in cages
who wouldn’t let them play.

As i crawled out of the dark into the overwhelming bright
he’d stick around to watch me grow
until the day he didn’t show.

I’d panic were is the man? the man that i have always known
I’d call the man but no response
until the day we’d have that talk.
How could a mans greatest strength become his greatest fault?
a death so premature.
is a man ever really gone ?
Or is it just a lie.
An uncertainty void of a remedy
who are you too disregard the power of a memory.

The dead are alive in the fourth dimension.
This thought turned fact came to my attention.

You’re breathing on the crest of my present memories.
Your smiling naturally , i smile back.
Theres pain in your bones.
i can see it.
Your floating soul is housed within this 17 year old, in every man you’ve ever touched you can be in 100 places at once it the fourth Die-Mention

The emptiness in my stomach, it is a portal formed the day of your passing. I’m too afraid to move on, I don’t want to close the portal. I don’t want to deny your only existence. I don’t want to kill you. Not again.

emotions, thoughts can travel through time, it passed through me once this intuition, obsession. I thought it was just another intrusive thought. It appeared as i cracked the door open. My eyes met yours, third person narration took hold of my consciousness, and as i saw your infectious smile the narrator thought, “and thats the last time i would ever see him.” I’m crazy i thought but it felt so sincere . I knocked on wood. But it did not help. You died the next week .

I should have known matter can not impact the 4th dimension. Only those of intrusive thought.