to a point
the world has slowed to down
to a point when you can actually see it's shape
and on your pale skin with no moisture
can feel the gentle autumn whispering breeze
coming to the palm of your hand
agony and chaos faded away
quiet whisper from around mind's eye
comes closer and become louder
to some a handful distant voices
become clear and so much thoughtful
one stands clear in the million
one and not the one of none
and you know what to do
what to avoid not to crumble down
constant poking on the skull of your mind
tell you what to do
to your own
wake up to your dimming dream
flashing and tumbling through
paired eyes down the tree to its roots
back to the mold
rumble and chatter
widen the apple of the eye had began
blanket closer faster each time again
bright glow fades away
and realities become curled
mystified once clear now
become all but a grain of sand
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