The End

To heal or be healed,

waiting for the ceaseless sensation

of a sentiment I carelessly created out of the Blue

in my mind I replayed imagery for refinement of ageless memory

a beat we missed and carefully found interestingly enough

I gave my whole heart to reach another realm

and never found a Way

back to the Golden planes

far from laughter and real truth

surfacing self-applied medicinal abuse

Torturous in depth though with

all lack of respect;

too short to write with rhythm

of the visions we intensify with

mimicry of chosen mysticism in our eyes

Unfortunately, they’ve called all my facts a fiction

and took what beauty I have seen

set a trap for all to see,

how Lost a lonely

Soul can be

— A Repeat

“I’m never writing again; among other things”


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