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December 7, 2015


Unforbid me disappearing into your morbid thoughts,
Through the channel of destructive cyclones.
Society owns the compass
but you endeavour to race against the wind.
Paralysed vision,
Embrace it as a gift.
The stars align themselves for you to discern,
Capture and create art.
The moon lights your lane,
your footsteps beg to disappear.
The truth haunts you though…
You can’t overlook the summon from the bastille.
As your world fades,
The voices in your head begin to utter words incoherently,
The polite knock turns to a bang.
Fulfillment forthcoming.


From → dark poetry

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