What Are Dreams Made Up Of

Dreams, my only escapisms No more realisms or academisms Only altruisms and fairyisms There, where my love lies in mysticisms! Dreams, made of your essence I become there not a butterfly But a moth craving for luminescence Wild and free, as pig in a pigsty! Dreams, the only place where I can let go And speak of all that has never been said All that pain in my veins which made me an albino All gets drained away, as it had been soothsaid! Dreams, my own escapisms To run away from reality A harsh and cruel monstrosity Made up of your aching absenteisms!