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Hello there!

Welcome to The Dream Archive. I write all kinds of things and catalog them here. I hope you enjoy.

Routine

The dogs are barking, 

Yet again, 

Covering up the morning. 

The birds sing on, 

Quite annoyed, 

As is their daily custom. 

And though I've never seen a ghost, 

I'm sure many are driving,

Off to work, off to haunt,

While the sun is still rising.

I start my day like all the rest,

Killing an alarm with hate.

There's a fifty-fifty chance I'll wake,

To the sound of a lawnmower 12 inches from my head.

I'll ignore that coffee exists,

Brush my teeth with hope, 

And confine myself to my chambers, 

Like a wizard or a hermit, 

Until the sun decides to die again,

And I am forced to fall dead, 

Under my comforter and sheets. 

Mapmaker, Mapmaker

Burnt