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Fluttering wings splashes light painted amongst cicada hums Thy fingers intertwined in roots Yet drawn to graves of lapsed youth
You bring me joy but at the same time pain, You seem to dictate my life as you wish; But you take it all for your own gain. I flip your pages trying to retain,
We could be so busy so consumed by the world around us the trivial matters the mistakes and arguments and resentments we could be consumed And drained by the mundane every day life
I feel like that. That pale greyish wisp of ash that crumbles beneath the slightest touch, That's been consumed by a ravenous fire that first caressed Then incinerated every fiber of it's being. I feel like that.
There's a monster. It doesn't live under my bed, Or make the floorboards creak at night. It doesn't tap at the window, Or make eerie sounds. It doesn't cast shadows on the wall, Or grope at my throat.
My head is spinning like a top, My ankles throb, My feet can't stop. There's insects in my mind, Buzzing and whirling, Clogging my ears, And making my eyes tear.
Everything we are, our heart, our soul, our mind is being deprived jeoperdized. Because our friends are those we dont recognize. A group so vast in size, but a friendship that can only be surmised.
Old kids as an society will eventually take about 30 prescriptions pills, but as humans we suffer from greed. Our greed complains for more life, but to have had life is enough. Our greed stems from fear, the fear of being casket sharp and gray.