Ripped off.
No more dances with butterflies,
lullabies, and fairies.
And you call me rigid?
You taught me to breathe,
uplift my light body,
transform thoughts into cubicles,
and translucent solids, you can’t see.
We joked about planets,
designed new stargates and galaxies
while deciphering the universe’s
vortex of energy.
I bought the story,
a narrative perfectly crafted for the naive
presented by a charismatic entity
who lost access to infinity.
Cycles.
Geometries.
Repetitive patterns,
destructive beliefs.
Stop running from the shadows you created,
engulfed in the vast library of memories.
Swaying between layers
imagining I still have my wings
Oh, I digress
How can I experience magic in this reality?
Be present.
No compromises.
Switch the cube into a dodecahedron
to activate your harmonic frequency.
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