Every

Every-time I close my eyes

Awake, I dream of plastic lies

Lurid dyes on neon skies

No fall, no guilt, no compromise.

Yet every-time I fall asleep

I'm prey to terror long and rancour deep

Never one to count the sheep

Or so I've been told.

Can I say the mirror lies?

Am I wrong to lust for neon skies?

Or shall I watch the vision die?

To trust the mind, or on sight rely?