Poetry comes at night,
Words that weave into a blanket of magic comfort me in sleep
And disappear at morning.
Art films live in my dreams,
Playing black and white, grainy,
Faces outlined in dark makeup,
Charlie and Mary know me.
But at morning they fade back to their graves.
I string together pretty words in my head like a lullaby to myself,
I can't sleep becuase of reality and escaping is all I know.
I've been trying to face it and it's much too hard so I'll retire back into myself,
Back to boys with fairy wings and girl-like goddesses with gold skin,
Girls with melting ice eyes and boys with glaciers in theirs.
I can see them all clearly. They are here with me,
Living in my dreams.
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