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Sep 2016
To me,
Life is but a dream.
A feather in the wind
That never alights.
Laborious mornings,
Torturous nights.

The parts of me
I thought were mine,
Were simply archetypes
I learned from t.v.
Or books.

I drank from the brook
Of knowledge
Till I had my fill.
The cold, refreshing stream
Was not real.
Twas a poison
Made to turn dreams
Into nightmares.

I suffered night terrors
At a time I was alone.
My true self
Ill-fitted for this world.
Bliss and sanity gone;
Swirled down the drain of insanity.
My true self I can no longer be.
I don't know what I am
If I cannot be
Michael Angelo
Written by
Michael Angelo  Idk
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