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Disjointed, fractured, Dreams entangle The sleeping mind, Leaving tentacles That insinuate themselves Into twisted realities Of feverish thoughts That question our senses. The waking dream of What we see and hear Is but one part of Our assembled lives That weaves itself into Our muscles and bones And tells us what is truth. At night we shapeshift Into other beings and Tell ourselves that What we think we know Is naught but lies, And, when we wake, We’re haunted by the Half-remembered shadows Of our sleeping selves.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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