A dreadful poem.

This is a poem that I wrote about people seeing what happenning in the storm before they die.

Well, I may sound crazy to some, but I do no deny that I "see" dead people. For a long time I declared myself in the mental ward. So I do not mind those who critise my sixth sense at all. But when I start telling about some presences I do feel around those sceptics, I did spoke some out. Fact: I could tell about a dear beloved they had on the other side, whitout me possibly knowing a thing about it.

Help! I keep having dinner with dead people and I cant help it…

My feelings on “reality”.