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The Truth Behind Thunderstorms

puppet strings mental assimilation
a formation lying like general disbelief
to be blinded by the true impossibility
the dreamer wandering amongst normality
imperfect crumbling stone crashes
a foolish guise better known as adoration
opening mind heart to a shadowed gaze
unaware distant face built to call out
any single line but the word desired
this weeping hypnosis goes to aspiration
frustrations complicating the story line

dreaded hopes cast forcefully to stray
from one form of mental homicide to
grazing on what's left of communications
shredded divided into how it plays out
the one torn by past and noon alike
the attempt to wander free of the trap
disintegrated by her only fleeting prayer
left lost between the dimensional lines
of family and the unexplored world
dreamt about on lonely, weak nights

the words barely fleeing open lips
trembling in the back of smoke scorched throat
a moment longed for like none other
until chaos erupted dragging etiquite and
that last small light pointing towards home
deep into the mass that remains after all
masked by growing up and running scared
a crumpled photograph of reality
not even mirrored as it should be designed

heed and know to lose, such misfortune
when there are no copies of the stone
its encumnbered curves and cracks all its own
how can the knowledge be certain unless tested
unless it's a lie.



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