Let them dream and let them chase
   illusions can be warm, they smell so sweet
     when poured in baths (ones set near peaks of
where my plates have crammed uneven seams to fit
where scars have raised to fit the layers of my ego's peel)
   the bubbles foam the guns away and
hazy candle light will melt the hatred
with the wax that spills from temporary rims.
    
      They may not hold in heat but jumpers won't approach
        the guarded balcony, if only even till the flame comes.
      (inquisition sears its burns with christ in mind.. but fruit can
       bear no harm to god it grows as one and walks with thirst and only
      seeds may say the "why") be sacred,
             don't reply, just sleep and let the dreams unwind.