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Images of all things
Roses beating like living hearts
Souls dancing like shifting sand on a long beach
Fire burning the ember eyes of a warrior
Skilled hands gliding across a blank page like falling leaves landing in ever moving lakes
Tired eyes closing like widows and doors of unwelcoming homes and shops
Ink stained hands gentle as silk and warm as an old and familiar quilt worn out by time
Ivory white bones strong as dimond yet fragile like china dolls sitting on a shelf
Random thoughts running in and out of minds like children in a secert garden made only for them
Gold and silver moons shiny like jewels yet thin and fake like paper or plastic hanging in shop windows on the street
Smiling faces beautiful as the stars themselves yet as two faced as any playing card
Gone missing like the heart and innocence of a fragile teenager, to be replaced by a heartless demon with a suger sweet voice and a kind yet cold smile
Ripped open like a wound from a battle ro a betrayal done and over but still the knife in her back remains, only slowly is it coming out
Ticking by like minutes on a pocket watch, yet standing still like a broken grandfather clock
Never to fit in with the real world, but to only be accepted by those who reside in Wonderland of all places, and well greeted and confused by the Cheshire cat
The madness continues in chapter something or other for she has lost count yet again
The randomness continues in chapter never ending for she can never stop who she really is
The book of all these thoughts will never end, nor will it ever be destroyed, it can't be for it never really existed in the first place
Setting suns put us to bed and the rising sun wakes us from a night of pure sweet dreams and wicked nightmares of unspeakable measure
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