Gleaning

In my dreams I glean a bit; enough to entice, but that is it.

In my head the well is full and dry and dwell I do, somewhere in between.

In my heart; encased and limited, tinges shock through; threatening to replace, threatening to erase.

Sensical? I think not. Practical? Not a thought. Screaming? Not to hear. Dreaming? Controlled and clear.

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