๐ ฟromises bled from the mouth of the moon, ๐ พaths carved in fog on a bone-white dune. ๐ ธ drank from a chalice that mirrored my face, ๐in made of velvet, stitched into lace. ๐ พracles wept in the orchard of skin, ๐ ฝailed to the silence that echoes within.
๐ ณeath wore a crown made of whispers and glass, ๐eality cracked like a serpentine mass. ๐ ดvery mirror refused to reflect, ๐ ฐs shadows grew teeth and began to infect. ๐ ผy soul is a house where the doors wonโt align.. Where dreams drink the dreamer, in slow serpent time.
The poem is a metaphorical horror tale about the poisoning of hope and dreams, where the person himself drinks the illusion, becomes lost in himself, and is escaped by reflection and reality. In the end, it is not the dream that is consumedโbut the dreamer himself.