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Mar 22
Desperately grabbing on to imaginary safety, hoping that maybe
just maybe, they'll save me.

This is no virtual reality, but it's hard to see reality when the fast pacing of ghosts and goblins are racing to neglect you as if you weren't ever here, to begin with...

This endless stress I'm feeling is a confession of my LACK of pity
because I feel like it's fitting for this circular way of ending

Spinning in this pattern
Fending for myself on an endless pasture
Demons and shadows, I call those the normal
Opposing humanity that lacks reality
Blinded by the constant wall we bring together
Formally restraining the legs, because we think it's better

"What's the weather"
A constant concoction of tales and tallies for the repeating day
Like a feather, the weight of these lifeless questions couldn't keep the ocean at bay

"What else is there to say"

It's not about what you say that will matter anyway,
Although the power of words is often underestimated,
Keep in mind whom invests in you and what you say,
For those will be you're biggest assets and liabilities.

But if you insist, say what you value, and value what you say,
Because your actions will amount to what comes from them at the end of the day,

Constantly tiptoeing over words like an *** drunk and stumbling over grass

We value the past, abusing it until we've drained it of any real mass it once had, excusing what we do, based upon the past

Forgetting that the past is so close yet fastly becoming the last player in this race in time,

What kind of journey must we take to pick what we say, what we do, what we feel, what we value,

giving our value to ourselves, excusing someone else's hell and making it about an experience that we still dwell on,

our experience

forgetting the rotating reality around us never really rotated around us, but it around it, around it, which we are apart of, silently sending chaos into its sight as we see fit


fright...we should feel because this multiple concoction of words is really a riddle, hidden message, pleading for safety, which may never come, fiddling my thumbs as I write this passage,

Paving a plea that may one day be seen and actually pondered...
Or maybe left, neglected, as expected, not graced even lightly with another soul's wonder.
Written by
BoringBoy  19/M
(19/M)   
617
   Fawn
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