Eyesore

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Inglorious.

Submitted: June 26, 2012

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Submitted: June 26, 2012

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Between the mind and reality,
Is far from a parallax truth.
To wake warm and full,
Only to wake again cold and forsaken.
Which reality do I lean?
Are my euphoria possessions all vacuous?
One day I laugh, play,
To only fall into an abyss of demons, ghosts.
Are you one of them?
Is your existence truly authentic or am I chasing figments?

Felicity greeted me....
I languished knowing,
That she was soon to decompose.
She became Placebo;
Up vanished her glory.
Is she ever real?
Why can't I make her real?

Then again maybe the world I cringe to,
Is the dream of my dreams,
And my reality is as fragile as feathers.

Is my sickness keeping me alive?
And if it's keeping me alive,
What will happen when it's gone?

I guess,
Pulling the trigger will make me bare truth.


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