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Not A DreamerWords are like threads, winding and binding up her arms,Not A Dreamer by ~sengawolf
her face,
her feet;
clogging her throat,
dripping from the transient stars
of our daydreams;
her life is made of an open book.
Her hands tear into the cracks, the glue,
the ripping spine, grown weak
from hollow nights and empty songs.
So she tears it apart,
builds it back up,
spins her dancing fingers across the pages,
weaving her shimmering story
into the bindings.
Sta.sh
s 
