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May 7, 2019

As the seconds begin to disintegrate our narrative dies.
The lies are that we live by our fate,
disagreeing that which our notion relies.
Far be it that we consume nor neglect our tangental existence.
For the sake or lack thereof respect,
the cause of little known resistance.

Smother the thoughts that have forsaken our own well being.
The mind goes down the harshest of roads taken.
Because our own enemy is a thought of a good feeling.
Granting the space and room to exceed, the mind’s positivity droughts.
If only the negativity would recede.
We find ourselves modest in our suicidal thoughts.

The eminence drifts away, and we’re seen for what we are.
Crimes and allegiance say,
“Perfection and integrity come out off par.”
To what degree does that really ever mean anything?
That we could ever be sullied?
Or that our lives could possibly be never-ending?

Nothing is known, and nothing is for naught, but somethings rely on our blind faith.
There are reasons why our bodies can rot,
because of the lies we tell ourselves we scathe.
We drift, and we try to figure out our reasons, but sadly we fail- answers aren’t delivered.
In the end, we’re just a number of cretins.
Just a dirty group of people- disheveled with out reason.

From → Poems

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