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Watch the prancing lions dance upon my lips.
Tip-toe, tip-toe, a delicate feature.
They blaze the night with their eyes,
Glowing like diamonds, twinkle, twinkle.
They speak, no, whisper into your dreams,
Your bitter nightmares,
Your endless journey.
The words glisten in the very abyss if the air,
You ponder briefly, just for the moment.
Not the moment that lasts forever; Not the moment that can go deeper.
But the moment that you will never understand.
A journal to you, is a journal to fill with the abstract of fairy tales.
A journal to me, is a journal of freedom,
Of ricocheting thoughts,
A new world,
A new meaning,
A new feeling.
It holds my deepest secrets and desires.
It holds my darkest fears and sorrows.
It releases the broken mind covered with shattered shards.
This, my dear, is just the beginning.