1. It Only Lends Itself To Dream

To Luna: Neither Love nor Infatuation


Is it the

suffering that

makes this love

exist at these

weeping worth



This fodder

for one who


Waking washing

away such a vivid



This is not for

those still living


rippling blood

into a half-full



Weak and powerless

The depth makes

tear-less eyes bleed

Even in wanting

death, life becomes



As it levels

out a waking

heart left half-empty


As if this could

only exist in dreams,

There’s even less

now left in the land

for the living


Whether or not

Deathe shrouds

sleepers in immortal



As if sleeping

now gives glimpses

in such lucidity

and well they could

not repeat themselves


How apt that I

only desire to e’er

sleep with You.


For these love-filled

dreams, make the waking

suffer and all no longer worth


Now even more illusory

than dream.


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