Forget about those dream states,
with those misplaced sorrows
of the sinless muses,
and your impacted fearscapes
as it traps those sharp edges
that cut in and breaks
the maze that is yourself.
Paper tears fall from blades
as fortunetellers are ripped.
You try picking up the pieces
but distractions
are never far from where you stand.
And as those pictures disappear
from their place,
you find morbid images underneath,
burning crosses,
torn books and broken candles,
mishapen stars that hold so much,
in that forgotten dreamscape.