How to Vanish Into a Dream

Forget the way back once you've crossed the seam.
Your name will fade where silence softly clings.
You won't be sure you're awake or in a dream.

The world will ripple, stitched with silver gleam,
as thoughts dissolve like waxen, melting wings.
Forget the way back once you've crossed the seam.

A mirrored forest calls without a scream—
its trees remember everything you bring.
You won't be sure you're awake or in a dream.

Time stumbles drunk, outpacing any scheme,
and clocks no longer care to count or swing.
Forget the way back once you've crossed the seam.

If voices whisper truths that make you lean,
don’t answer—every answer has a sting.
You won’t be sure you're awake or in a dream.

So vanish slow, like fog on glass or stream.
Let go of every tethered, earthbound thing.
Forget the way back once you've crossed the seam.
You won't be sure you're awake or in a dream.