Sour Madness

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Must be really nice to curl up furiously against the heaviness,
the coldness of your lonely life.
Must be really nice to have all your friends think you're nothing worth
standing up for......
Must be really nice to learn that you have no hope, no dreams,
and no more excitement that the one left in a child during war time,
Must be really, really nice to let the sour sadness take over your already dull life and drag you under its sea of deeper lost madness.
Its quite nice for you isn't it?
No, its not, you know it's not.
You follow the patterns, they allow you to be,
and you allow them to control you.
Every morning, the blood dripping through your hands
Horrifies the most vivid dreams of your darkest night
And it goes on, because for it there's not a single strand of hope.


Have you ever thought of surrendering to yourself?
Throw your human form away into the wilderness of your every
Atom that adds up to be your body?
Have you ever been to your soul?
Impossible!

I have seen a million times the difficulty of being ourselves.
It never quite leaves you alone.
It's as if you're standing on a beautiful tree top,
surrounded by nothing but the pureness of your own scent
but all of a sudden, a sharp cut to the root sends you to the ground.
And once again, you're off to climb, searching for your soul,
for the true meaning of being someone, for the understanding
and for yourself.
The search is an exhaustive path that leads to a thousand forgotten
Little lakes, who are ought to show you, and never let you forget
Just who you are.





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