I bloom where moonlight dares not stay, And whisper through the darkened gray. I wear the mask of nameless dread, And weave strange kingdoms in your head. I have no hands, yet make you run, No eyes, yet watch what you have done. I paint your fears in shades unseen, And turn your sleep to something keen. I rise from shadows, cold and deep, Then vanish when you wake from sleep. But though the morning steals my throne, A fragment of me lingers on. What am I?
Either a Dream or a Memory. The realm of the Subconscious, perhaps.
Right. A dream, or a nightmare depending.
࣪⊹₊˚{ DAYMAREEEE! \}*7*{/ }˚₊⊹ ࣪
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