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Here we are you and i neither happy both living a lie!
Bitter and angry the name of the game or wounded and resigned a repeating refrain.
Both feeling more and more stuck but no common ground so guess we’re out of luck
Both living our truths out of our wounded souls. Both left feeling like empty holes.
I take a step back try to sift through the glass
Tell myself this too shall pass.
But jagged edges leave wounds that fester and grow. And sooner or later the bleeding shows.
My heart is broken,  your hope is gone. But whats the choice so we keep going on.
You feel defeated, disrespected, and used. I feel lost, unwanted, and accused!
Yet here we are no choice stuck like gravity. But if we could break it would we really be free.
Could time apart heal and help us to grow
Maybe with therapy but we will never know.
The Past is a learning curve
Don't dwell in what was
Time to enjoy
What that is up to you but do it
Regrets are useless
No need to embellish
We have all been there
Sometimes with frierds and loved ones.
Sometimes on your own
Happiness,Joy.The Very Best of Everything Always
Going Forward
Can you only visualize with your eyes?
How else does one view the prize?
What's the max number of tries?
What if both body and mind twist truth into lies?
Can I adopt a different disguise?
Will I have to provide my own alibis?
Or do those come packaged up with said lies?
Who attends to the styes?
Why are there so many goodbye's?
Lost in the questions as hope dies
Emptiness on the rise
Forced into the chamber where despair resides
This is what hope buys
Mama never said there'd be days like this
Days a pig flies
When I post on here
Sometimes I give give it
A cursory scan and press save
Other times
I intensively re read it
Again and again
Line by line
Word for word
Until I'm satisfied
There's no mistakes
Either way
The flubs aren't apparent
Till it's loose
In the ether
There's blocks
And there's blinds
In my mental
Procedures.
I've just seen a pigeon
In the heavy rain
Clinging on to
The surface
Of a sheer brick wall
I didn't know
They could do that
I was waiting for the fall
Was this fellah
The Alex Honnold
Of his feathered breed?
Or do they do it all the time
And I've just never seen?
He flapped his wings
Now and then to adjust his grip
But he hung right in there
With barely a slip
Then I saw it
He motivation anew
The bird feeder was busy
He was stuck in a queue.
From the inside
Of the coma.
I breathe rhythmically.
Out of step
With
The outside world.

Until I wake up.
And,
Mourn the loss of dreams.

Synchronized with the depression
Of aware.
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