Plummeting into a waifing ocean of lavender and downy pillows
Recklessly tangling her writhing body in a pile of covers
She was waiting
Waiting to emerse herself in her prophetic dreams
Daytime is when she would usually meet
The Shaman
Lazarus
King of the dead
He
Lazarus
Was the one who taught her how to spin the mirror
Until her image had turned
And she had become a monster of the stagnant night
"Lady Green"
Is what he called her
His prodigy of manipulation
Blissful chaos ensued in those dreams
Little Ivy
The nymph of the well
Lured men into the deep
A certain torturous hell
For those afraid of the slippery, damp and dark
Lazarus ate those mens' hearts like cherries rotting off the pits
And she sank deeper,
Deeper,
Into a dark sleep
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