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The montrosity of my self awarness, in precular days that are no more, all becomes what is dreamed, in sustainment from my eyes. Tears that swell, becomes a bubble that expands, to feel the gaps that form my breath, inside my feverish dreams. And then it begins, a repeating cycle, that becomes controle, because its to late. As I respire to dream, watching my daydreams, inside a worlds glass ball, I float on its surface.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

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