Weaving my soul in your spider web
Where the creation come to be.
Device where I was kept for you to see,
What you could not perceive...
What you saw was never me,
Just a projection of your being,
The mirage of a moment from free...
That seemed more than golden tree.
I saw the illusion become greed
And the moment more than split,
In two or more fever leaves...
Of love punched in my grief.
Creation of my own seeds
That left late to the spring.
Never saw summer...
or even have been feed,
By only a single spirit
Of my own need.
The love became a dream
Inside my own scream...
where in rage I just sing
The flooded pain...
In my own stream.
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