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I have one hand on the handle of the mad sane door,
the other is scraping shards on the missing floor,
my mind dissolves away into a hurricane squall,
and my face is the mirror on a stark naked wall.
My life is a fluid flowing through images weird,
dripping through the cracks, tactile and veneered,
pouring dark thoughts into a head once cleared,
the door whispers promises of nothing to be feared.
© Pagan Paul (14/12/17)
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repost
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