Well I took a nap from resting reality.
Sat back and fell into deceptive recycling
Pack it up throw it away, you see because trusting your sight
might just turn on you and say
Go back where you came from, the sun sets for the day
the octagonal way cubistic sway reach out connects the mundane tray.
Well the bread I found from frosted refrigerator
Hail stale from taste, but closer look I could see
I see flower twists from yeasting feast.
But alone I am.
desire from sweet touch over eyes echo
and repeats the deftly surprise. I am dead inside.
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