The dreamful emptiness of dusk,
To the loaded rush of dawn.
Contagious smiles wrapped with mask
Innate she felt is not gone.
Psyche she is with smudges,
Could be hues or inks,
Turning into rusty cages,
Tearing to corrode the blinks.
She keeps on living,
Craving for Aurora,
To the spread beads at night looking,
Though nights field with faux pas.
Psyche's smudges,
Sketching nostalgia,
Through the faded faces
Of gladness and euphoria,
Whereas majestic lit
Eyes of Northern Lights,
Smeared by rubbing it,
Still, Psyche stands with knights
That keeps her awake.
Facing the white ceiling
With crescent eyes of fake,
Where everything's bleeding.


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