• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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Kaleidoscope Conscience

Blinking eyes, darkness illuminated by the light on the other side of the lid.
Shapes formed in a recess of the mind, fitting perfectly into a grid.

A hanging bulb, dangling from eyelashes, keeping the inside of my head awake.
Glazing each corner of the room, tinted in colour, but still opaque.

Shadows don’t exist in a round space, unless I intrude to the centre.
Jagged edges protruding from my body, as I embark on an old venture.

No beige, or magnolia, just a constant rotation of glowing hues,
kept wide eyed by the reliance on the fuse.

Not a natural experience, more a man made interference.
Existing inherently, with no false appearance.

The vividness of life is all I see when my eyes are closed,
and all that is needed, is a bulb left exposed.