During the day I am a frail human
Wearing a crown of thorns.
Counting my coins.
They’re far from gold.
I’m enveloped in a days worth of
Emotions. Glued to my own
Make- shift throne.
My consciousness; an erratic shift
between lightness and darkness
All in a sunny afternoon.
I become alive in the night.
Only then am I the sorcerer,
Instead of a silly Queen.
I become the jester to my own mind.
I make it myself, with eyes closed.
Dreams intertwine with the soul.
I’m dancing with my own satisfacation.
Only then do I feel truly alive.
Until I wake up, and again take my makeshift throne.