Precious dreams

The dreams are all I have, and treasure them I must.

Slowly they come and steadily they flow, and I must hold on to them, lest they go.

So don’t wake me to the truth that make me, to the nightmare of reality, please don’t take me.

Allow me slumber for a while on the embers of my dreams.

Here smiles are true and tender, and pleasant like December.

Allow me rest here for a while, and dwell on the figments of my imaginations,

Fragments of what they say are hallucinations.

They are all I have, they are my precious.

Emmalase.

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