Is what I breathe really air?,
Or a dust filled with despair?
Is what I hear the sound of a dying steer,
Or just a scream of fear?
I know that it is there,
But don't know exactly where.
I should be unaware,
Until a dream of an heir,
Will be drowned in flares,
Till then,
The one that remains shall care.
Muddled is a state of bewildering confusion.
Hope you like it :)