In my head,
a flow of ideas
of fabulously fictional escapes,
and so I said,
"well, paper, here's
a run through for the fates."
And once I started,
I could not stop it
and wrote out Morphean lies.
I wrote bitches, cold hearted,
who went out and fought it.
Now, their bodies are lieing piled.
So, gruesome and gory,
but broken, distorted, her
feelings bursting at the seams
for a story, see,
of truths distorted, sure
just writing down my dreams.
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