Lucid dreams and puppet strings
Entwine in realms unknown
With scissors of the new dawn
Cutting what she's sewn
While searching for oblivion
Beneath enlightenment's facade,
She lowers lids, expectant
Of her dreamscape's last mirage.
But never does it end,
This infiltrating depth
For what she though she'd find in sleep
Has become her real-world quest.
Comments
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Bravo
Exxellent! I love this because its different, and fresh like the color....lol lovely write....
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