Dreams are i l l u s i o n s
of the mind.
Designed so when you
o p e n your eyes, all
you see is an invisible
lie.
A world where
record disks could play
to a heart's desire,
Where glue could patch
up any open stitches,
Where we were
s h o o t i n g stars
that could fly away,
Where words couldn't
keep our love
locked in ink,
Until someone splashes a
cold bucket of reality, and you
realize,
That it was just another
gift from Hell called
a fake promise.
But if dreams really
existed behind the curtains
of our closed eyes,
Then it would make
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
asleep forever,
seem that much more
beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
tree.
Poetry"a feast of words about a girl's opinions about life, her love for trees, and a certain boy."
