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August
August
Little things get to me; / words said, sting.
It's all in your head. It's not real. They're just hallucinations. Are they? I'm beginning to question my own imagination. Holding my own hand, to see if I'm still there. "We're all mad here." Can somebody help me? I'm dreaming away. In a fantasy land, where flamingoes are used to play croquet. Who am I? I've changed several times. Why is a raven like a writing desk? I don't know why. Why do they not recognize me? Who am I? Banished out of the pretty garden. The sweet flowers turned bitter as they sang. Like the cookies I consumed without a second thought. Washed down with drinks that I knew not. I say ,”I'm not a **** But I'm not me.” I'm big. I'm small. I'm nothing at all. Can somebody help me? It's all in my head. Off with my head. - August
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Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 8:50 PM UTC
WONDERLAND
The cool breeze of the spring.                      I'm the withering trees outside in the fall.    I'm the serene lagoon, where beautiful swans                          f     l     o     a     t                                                     upon. I'm the                      g         moon that bewilders your eyes as you                  n                                                                                                   i                                                                                                       s                                                                                                        i                                                                                                          r                                                                                       fall asleep.                    I'm the sun you cannot look at                                           in the  b r o a d  daylight.                   I'm AUGUST,                                who soon will be a FULL moon.                          But I first have to become the                                          sunset                                            as                                             I                                                                                             f                                                a                                               l                                            l                                             .                         I have to carry swords in my back;                         I have to keep wan der ing like                            a hermit, until I am                                              found.                               Until, I have truly found myself.                                                   -August
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Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC
I'm AUGUST.
The cool breeze of the spring.                      I'm the withering trees outside in the fall.    I'm the serene lagoon, where beautiful swans                          f     l     o     a     t                                                     upon. I'm the                      g         moon that bewilders your eyes as you                  n                                                                                                   i                                                                                                       s                                                                                                        i                                                                                                          r                                                                                       fall asleep.                    I'm the sun you cannot look at                                           in the  b r o a d  daylight.                   I'm AUGUST,                                who soon will be a FULL moon.                          But I first have to become the                                          sunset                                            as                                             I                                                                                             f                                                a                                               l                                            l                                             .                         I have to carry swords in my back;                         I have to keep wan der ing like                            a hermit, until I am                                              found.                               Until, I have truly found myself.                                                   -August
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31
Like Alchemists, we seek an answer. We experiment with different elements, fusing ourselves over the fire of our hearts. Like Alchemists, we long for an answer. The answer lies within. But our vision is hazy due to the smoke. All we see is the elixir of hope, and as we join hands, we choke. Like Alchemists, we thought. But like fools we really were. To think that we could be twin flames. - August
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Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC
The Alchemist
I pretend to love him. To love the game. To love the Fun. But I'd rather be with you. I'd rather find my way on the strings of that violin, than to try and keep up with the beat of the Drums. - August
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Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 6:27 PM UTC
Slow Dance