Poetry 3,17,21

[Juniper Bruhmomentius]

The release of carelessness beckons me as I act upon the abyss
Motions lost in time
Moments shapeshifted entirely
Tell me
Was any part of it real?
Could I just have dreamed you alive
Then dead
Guilty conscience is the weapon on my mind
Not for self defence
For self harm
Utopia dreams