My very thoughts are being consumed,
By my nightmares, and dreams,
From the time it seems,
I left thy fruit of the womb,
They grow from a small seed,
that was planted by the florist,
they become a giant forest,
Of different thoughts I bleed,
some just wither away,
from my mind's very psyche,
some are heavy, some are lightly.
and although they are my prison,
they always come free,
from the universe that is me,
and will always keep me driven.
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