A concoction of constellation has been split in the sky.
A concoction of reality has been seeped inside.
Limits rising into nonexistent as the darkness and light become one.
Day is night while night is day; darkness having more light than once.
Twisted poems too sickly sweet to sing out loud.
Ending daydreams and transforming our imagination into creation.
A hundred to a million puddles of formatted drafts.
Those islands of daydreamers have set sail.
The unsigned writer has come from a patch of the throne.
It will never end until the world has become a story itself.
Complexity in puzzles beneath the ocean eyes glass sphere.
Rushing to write down all these words before they die.
Singing the dreamer to sleep, singing the thoughts to sleep.
The farthest out the sky has ever been before.
The taste of clouds in the flurry of us running away.
Addicted to the obsessions in the mind of a dynamic dreamer.
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