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A birth in the ruins

November 4, 2014


The desolate house
Hiding in a sanctuary of tarantulas.
Feared yet not understood,
Buried are the voices that once commanded a following.

How the rainbow can hide itself from yonder expectations,
Impossibility was the task ahead,
But a heart yearning,thirsty
and a chest scarred with expectation.

Wrists slit longing for pain fulfillment,
Ravaging for a pathway to elude through..
Its happening again,
Thoughts onto a horse race,
What awaits in the finishing line?

Before that,conquer or destroy?
Or die trying-to form an emblem.
A scar.

We all search frantically for an addiction,
An excuse to escape the cell we must be locked up in,
Its your own planet of the paranoid
No,they are not little imps,
Its your personality bleeding.

Always a stranger to the universe,

The unknown casting a shadow
Freedom an illusion,
Or perhaps,
A story factory.

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