dreams are cold and hungry just like us
if you fattened them on fire they would kindle.
but left locked inside four walls they start to rust.
what do dreams that have rusted look like?
spent and sore like bodies tethered to fear?
or red and burnt like pain that's rawed anew?
or neither - just a defeat of all that's dear.
dulled and dried and dying in the sun.
dull days have dull reflections, what is new?
and thoughts begin to wander without cause
and collect unmeanings. paint in sorry hues.
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