spiral

far away in a field made of gold and green
girls with butterflies in their hair pick up dreams
swollen with desire and fallen on the ground
they bite into each dream and pass them around

thick dream juice coats their mouths and chins
they giggle with joy and their laughter starts to sing
fingers dripping with the ichor, they lick the digits dry
overwhelmed with joy some of them even start to cry

these girls with butterflies in their hair
they're addicted to dreams and they simply don't care
where the dreams come from, to whom they belong
they just want the dream juice, they long for its song

beneath the earth in cryo-chambers, an army of men sleeps
kept alive by technology, a thousand machines beep
their eyes plucked from sockets, fucked up and drugged
they dream of the day when they will be unplugged

--
Spiral (1 of 3)