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Apr 6
People say that I'm enchanted and deserving.
I am a tad insecure.
They come by after years of dissonance
to play prayer on a lost consonance.
This unison of a depraved boy, or a talking poet.
Shining through the undersoul of a lost half.
The self of a loud sun. Alien to money.
Riding a fume that was long begotten, causing storms in
the compass I've got. My heart.

I quit playing with fortune, living the rest of my life is no burden.
Comfortably summed up in the touch of God.
Paul NP
Written by
Paul NP  Toronto
(Toronto)   
  97
 
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