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lua 5h
you sound like a dream
one that i've locked inside my head
the one with flying unicorns
and laser beams
and cotton candy trees
but the one with thunder and lightning
and a ring of flames
in the middle of a meadow
where the fires ate everything it touched
and spat out nothing but a blackened husk
it's the one where prince charming falls off his high horse
and into the abyss
the one where rapunzel chops off her hair
the one where mermaids exist to be feasted upon
by hungry sailors
you sound like a nightmare.
I spent an awful night
Dealing dreams
I found no takers;
They said -
My dreams
Were old and stale,
And wouldn’t work for them.
I did not blame them;
They did not know the way
To be in others’ mind
To savour strange thoughts
And walk with them.
I did not sleep.
Silence is the loudest sound,
It's distracting,
It wakes people up,
It reminds them what life's worth,
It reminds them of fear.

On the other hand...

Silence is peace,
It is the absence of thought,
It is you melting with the universe,
It is the softest end,
To the loudest beginning.
sky’s pale till midnight,
satellite glided overhead like some
wandering speck of dust caught in
a patch of sunlight,
and the moon’s hung, like a curled
white eyelash upon the lens of
heaven. i made a wish upon her -
as you are supposed to with
fallen lashes -
though i mustn’t say it, or it mightn’t
come true.
it floats like a feather upon a
stream: hopeful. but to where? i
am not entirely sure.
hopefully
to Lune.
I stay up all night,
watching romances I have seen about a hundred times.
Looking at passionate kisses that jingle and rhyme.
I stay up all night,
comparing his love for me to all the loves that have ever existed.
From all tragedies like Romeo and Juliet
to all success like Ron and Hermione.
From all I love yous
to all infinity and beyonds
From all moons and tides that love but never touch each other
to all parasites that touch but never love each other.
From all poems and stories written
to all love letter burned and burried
From Hollywood to Korea
I stay up all night,
thinking if he kisses me with all the love he has
and loves me with all the kisses he can give.
thinking if his words are as true as him
and the truth is nothing but his words.
thinking if he looks at me like the moon looks at the earth
and the earth looks at nothing else but the moon
thinking if he will stay with me forever
and forever will become always with us.
I stay up all night,
but when I fall asleep
He comes and tells me tales of his love for me
with kisses on my body
wrapping me in his dreams so
I stop thinking about staying up all night
and sleep with my love and his dreams
An endless summer, a California dream
Would've meant nothing without you there setting the scene
I counted up a list of all the things that meant the most to me
And the list added up to be
143
11.19
The wind passes, tugging at the candlelight.
I dance with no one as an audience,
only petals drifting in the wind.
Sealed all that of the past,
turning it into a beautiful dream.
Now love has exiled me,
I heard someone once said⁠—
Dream is an escape... Is that so?
Going down, but it's not bad.
Going down to the river
to clear my head.
Simple things like skipping rocks
Or catching fish in the stream
Remind me that
even in times like these,
Life could still be a dream
It's never clear to me where the dreams begin and
where the memories begin
but I know they both begin
to make sense after the first dozen times and
then once they make sense they cease to be interesting and
begin to bore me and
so I focus on waking up to both and
setting both feet on the cold stone floor where the **** and
the puke has already dripped through the cracks left
by the dance leaving a dry yellow stain just so
I know for sure I'm home and
not still in the in-between domain. And
I try to recall the detail but fail again,
so I start a new story where I'm the hero and
not a victim this time and
where there's no need for heroes cos everyone is in
a cooperative mood which makes me mad
- what's the point of a hero when
there's no heroism called for
- which makes me wonder who
called me here at this time of the night
when crows and bulldogs are the only ones awake and
are the only creatures who care about the size of the moon, oh and
me of course, so what's
that make me? some cross between a black arts symbol and
a patriot looking for a fight to justify the distrust and
anger I feel about the world

- blast and ******, I need a *** and
I need to puke so I lay back down, curl into my fetal and
let nature do it's worse. The warmth soothes me at first, but
soon enough the chill takes hold and
I wonder when mum will come and
tell me it's time for school.

The answer is exactly 30 seconds later and
as usual she notices nothing,
so imagination it is then
- not such a blessing then,
despite what the teacher said.
reworking a stream on consciousness to give it more of a handle
I didn’t remember you slept here last night
I got up and you were there as no invite
was needed
You barged into my dreams and ahead  was blur
I just needed a cup of coffee and there you were
again
As high as the trees and with your long hair
I could swear to myself you really weren’t there
You and your book always so focused in the higher branches
You were the one up there and I got the scratches
I never really knew why you needed that tree to read you book
I kept waiting and calling
not worth of even a look
you used to live here
You lived
and i woke up .
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