She was made of broken dreams. Each night, dancers called her skin a stage with the light of the stars as their spotlights, they performed for an audience that did not include her. She was made of broken dreams but laid in a bed made of the pieces. Sharp and jagged, it stung and hurt, she bled and cried, but no one listened, not even the moon.
Unpleasant dreams were nightmares, the unwanted fangs of monsters with heads of lions and bulls and eagles. Some would scream, some would waken, but she-- She would stay. She chose to stay awake and would leave her lost in the dark; alone in the cold where no one would call for her.
She was ignored. She was alone. She was cold.
She was made of broken dreams.
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