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The dreamful emptiness of dusk, To the loaded rush of dawn. Contagious smiles wrapped with mask Innate she felt is not gone. Psyche she is with smudges, Could be hues or inks, Turning into rusty cages, Tearing to corrode the blinks. She keeps on living, Craving for Aurora, To the spread beads at night looking, Though nights field with faux pas. Psyche's smudges, Sketching nostalgia, Through the faded faces Of gladness and euphoria, Whereas majestic lit Eyes of Northern Lights, Smeared by rubbing it, Still, Psyche stands with knights That keeps her awake. Facing the white ceiling With crescent eyes of fake, Where everything's bleeding.
