Eye-Glasses
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.
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