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He lied so casually;
Such little meaning in such big statements.
When he said “I love you”, did he ever truly mean it?
Has he ever meant anything? Was his whole being merely a facade?
Chasing the answers;
Does he ever truly wish to find them?
He finds depressive thoughts comforting;
So lost in self-pity, he loves to feel sadness.
Something to hold deep within.
He bleeds words onto paper, too afraid to bleed in the open;
An ever-spiraling cycle.
He knows his demons are many;
He knows his demons are self-made.
Depression grips him, as depression is relief.
Is the world even real when his thoughts are so inward and selfish?
Lost. Lost. Lost.
Do I want to be found?
Do I want to find myself?
I think not; I fear I am not the person I would like to be.
When did he turn into me?
How did this happen?
The lines between fantasy and reality are so blurred. Paenitentia.
Musfiq us shaleheen
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ the Smartass Rabbi
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