THREE A.M. BLUES

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star-riddled hammocks splayed
into canopies, stretching out
over our heads like veritable
behemoths of unfathomable depth.

and then our lips kiss glass stems
in a medley of tunes and
a motley of colours at the same time.

and then we're lying on our beds,
in a mess of limbs entangled in
bed sheets, and confetti and streamers
from the night before.

that's when our blues hit.

when it's day, but still night.
they're far apart, but still manage to collide.
when we hide from the earth and the skies.
when we forge a castle of lies--
out of the fantasies and tales we feed ourselves with.

it's just the stuff of our dreams, you know.
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A/N-- written from the point of view of
a regular, party-loving teenager.

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