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Too many lights for my eyes to bear,
though curiously I look and foolishly I dare,
Hypnotized but conscious and fully aware,
that I’m trading a gem for an early stare.
Confused am I or deadly sure?
Ponderously my mind would allure,
is this disease without a cure?
Or just a thought far from pure?
Exaggeration is now my essence,
Hastiness rises and patience lessens,
every bit of sense in me deadens,
leaving the throne empty for peasants.
A feeling too tensed for me to store,
a thought I hate although I adore,
if it is painful then why is it not sore?
And if it is wrong, then why do I ask for more?
Is this a beginning or a dead end?
Should I fiercely fight back or yield and bend?
Is this a curse set upon my head?
Or is it a blessing to which I should tend?