i am living the days a prisoner lives where every moment feels the same and nothing is exciting.
i am locked up in a pretty scape of land
my dreams are made of sand
and castles crumble
and my own hands are numb
the brand of illusion.

dystopian

where there is love, there is also pain.
but where there is love, there is hope.

in my coffee *** of dreams
where the flowers wilt and die
there are pennies and they gleam
with the light of Luna's eye

i am the pollen of a poisonous flower;
carried by bee
made into honey
collected by keepers;
unintentional reaper.