Soft. . .white. . .dirty. . .cloned. . .the eyes of what has beheld the innocence of a lie. . .the wool has been uncovered is growing thick and what is meant to be gained has been lost because nothing being said is enough to reshape the tale of what is being told, discernment is unfolding all of what has been sold. . .there is no dreams, reality isn’t made up of flying butterflies. . .mistrust the wool because it appears delicate but it’s far from soft. . .white. . .dirty. . .cloned. . .zoned out from desperation of defining what has been burdening the soul. The core of a being. . .hallucinating merely believing what has been seen. Is it true. . .the wool? Does it fully cover the eyes of the one who is designed to see? Imperfection. . .dirty. . .cloned. . .the small mistake of reasoning with evidence. . .red flags. . .the wool is hiding the truth. . .the battle to cover with the wool broadens an open horizon. . .the clouds seem to pull back what comes with the rain, deep down lost in pain. . .the wool has uncovered the truth. . .cloned into darkness of one. . .trust, devotion, the polishing of keeping the wool in tact. . .react to what comes with time. . .the wool is uncovered this time the wool can’t be intertwined.