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so judge. It’s in the past now. judge. I have built a new self right now. judge. I know myself. judge. your eyes are your eyes, but they cannot strip me nor hurt me. you are a witness, but never my truth.
5d · 14
Untitled
Even in silence I hear a voice shouting.
I feel myself tense, it’s coming, it’s coming; they’re coming to haunt me.
I shout back and it whispers.
It’s me. It’s you. You are the voice that is screaming at you.
Stop running. You are no longer haunted.
every stop, a mirror
(it wasn’t predicated)

every glance, a prey falling for its captor
(it wasn’t predicated)

every tear, a never-ending misery
(it wasn’t predicated)

a slightly adjusted point of view
is more than faulty
twisted (it wasn’t predicated)

twisting and turning
hoping for a miracle
merging what may and what might
with what it never was
(it wasn’t predicated)

hopeless as a needle in a haystack
bound like rain to the ground
futile

there’s a fine line between insanity and genius
a siren luring you under
a pied piper yet a fool

how could I be less,
when I was always more
how could I be broken,
when I was always whole

(I didn’t know but I recognized)
(I didn’t know but I knew)

my falling out of love
was not predicated,

but there’s
          a million
            evidence
              everywhere

how it could’ve happened.
two versions of the same poem :) ‘polished,’ then ‘unraveled.’ u’re in the second now.
every stop, a mirror
every glance, a prey falling for its captor
every tear, a never-ending misery

a slightly adjusted point of view
is more than faulty
twisted

twisting and turning
hoping for a miracle
merging what may and what might
with what it never was

hopeless as a needle in a haystack
bound like rain to the ground
futile

there’s a fine line between insanity and genius
snakes and sounds,
a pied piper yet a fool

how could I be less,
when I was always more
how could I be broken,
when I was always whole

I didn’t know but I recognized
I didn’t know but I knew

my falling out of love
was not predicated,

but there’s a million evidence everywhere

how it could’ve
happened.
two versions of the same poem :) ‘polished,’ then ‘unraveled.’ u stumbled with the first one.

— The End —