And the love of fiction
Brewing inside
Brewing inside a complex mind
Always waiting
For a new opportunity to
arise
Always excited
At each new turn
At each new turn Or each new turn
At each new turn Or each new turn Of the page
Sometimes thinking
But always saying
But always saying And saying
But always saying And saying And saying
And though she's the devils child,
And though she's the devils child, as some say
She prays each day
And an angel
watches over her
As she sleeps
Dreams drag her down deep
Into worlds where she knows
Nothing's real,
Nothing's real, yet she stays
To know what
The world would be like
If it were to fit
Inside her brain
They aren't ghosts
but comrades,
but comrades, that stop her sleep
And they leave as she wakes
As she steps into the sunrise
of another tired day
of another tired day of another printed page
of another tired day of another printed page of parchment
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