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Though phantoms may be howling at the edges of my mind
Ripping away gobs of flesh until my soul lies exposed
Rotting off my skull, hanging loose from my tired bones
Whilst the terrifying multitude of my unseen fear
Hath become like the vile, gnashing teeth of night's Reaper
As I bare witness to the demons rising and writhing
Within the silver pool of my own lean, haunted reflection
Yet I cannot turn away; Even in my darkest hour
I must summon the courage to stay; For this is my reckoning.
She'll probably never know the depth of my affection
Because I too hasn't come close to its discovery
She doesn't realize how much I crave her attention
That her absence is illness and her presence recovery
She cannot tell the thing that loves her is just close
Because her favorite obsession is miles away
The reason behind her Heart's closed doors
So that desolation is her annual pay and she underscores whatever I say
She might never realize that true love was underneath her eyes
While she strained them peering beyond the horizons
Yet that far can cloak in the skin of  truth, lies
But I understand every beating Heart's got her own reasons
She might never feel the warmth of my passion
Because she trustingly and truly belongs to a better person
... -; And here I stand,
Utterless, emotionless,
Simply struck
At the thought of being
   P o e m l e s s

Well, I mean, homeless
   As we all know
A poem is a home
   For the mind and soul

Take that lesson and rewind it
Time it
Rhyme it
Place it on that paper that's
L I NE ' D

                          yes,
I did that.
As a poet,
I exempt that.
Re-vamping your language to meet
            
                   MY DESIRES

is where I make impact.
"Random visions of my imagination do not always constitute clarity."
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