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I am dead
I gave it all
The family I left behind
My next numerical
Where you go is up to me
She'll miss you
Your kids, too
All are right
Yet you are at the mercy of me

Walk through God
What is the point
Will it matter
But
Look here
In front of you
Potential
Ability
Right in front of you is the future

It's time to start over
Not for the first time
Again and again
You'll restart in the construct
The realm you can not comprehend
Sure, you'll live life anew
But you'll never know
Living life
Just to be dead
I am dead
But you...
The fidelity of the mirror is beyond me
Let not settle the forlorn, or I will watch it manifest
The ruminative stick of vapid saplings
Intent to corroborate my next passing
Be it tonight, tomorrow, or never again

To be accompanied in a time of sheltered pride
Demanding for the individual
The thanks, the praise, the shoulders
I seek a true scintilla of empathy
The dissociation
The one I see in my own eyes

Could a mirror be flawed?
Or am I peering the face of contemporary banality?
Is a plight such as mine replaceable?
Am I to age as a statistic rather than a life?

The devious catacombs of neurons
The enabler of my hindsight
The existential home of my saddened microcosm
Witnessed a single reflection
In my mirror.
Things are bound to go
I'm not who I was years ago
Your mind a mystery
Your thoughts
Brume to me
Man appreciative
Thoughts contemplative
Finish line ahead be gone
As my love turn zero to one
Dreams are certain truth
A heart's desire convolute
A soured down feeling of sundered youth

Your mind a mystery
Your thoughts
Brume to me
Double delinquent doubting diminished days
Overbought offers offending obeying owners
Unhandled unhappiness unfortunately undermined
Banished before buyers believe beyond
Tonight's troubled totalitarianism totally tarnished
I am the hurt
The burdened teacher
A simple-minded empty preacher
I am the pain
The alcoholic
A backward-thinker born to frolic
I am the sunder
Basic utensil
Cut and split, a modern mental
I am the struggle
The he to she
A sole investment with no plea
Foresee the strings
They bleed to tell the tale of you
Struggling to smile and weeping vibrato
Symphony of blight to cry tonight
Orchestral somber and tonal allegro
The planter's spring doth not start
Son fed and drowned, yet dead without heart
Stained wind foretell a future of naught
Buried in sky without a last thought
Led to damnation by embellishing say
Hunter scorched by blood of prey
Deny not the prominent heuristic
Or yet become an annual statistic
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