And as the years fly by, they have a blurry hue.
Impossible to truly see, eyes are slightly closed.
Sleepiness seems a disease, weariness a constant state.
Too petrified to make a sound, heinous images penetrate the mind.
Lining of the brain scrapes back, bleeding crimson colors.
All in an attempt to not wake up from the dream, to not live.
As blood runs black in the moonlight, images fade away into the dark.
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