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The monsters they deceive me
Leaving stone prints on my wall
Telling me stories about the nights when we thought we knew it all.
Now we sit here forgetting memories
Left to rot here, such a neglectful tyranny
While the masters of our town bleed empty faces in the wasteland
Of course. There’s nothing left to linger.
What does it mean to be “found” in a world like this?
The preachers and scholars live to exhale truthful lies.
As the fragments of our souls dismantle compromise. There’s no other way.
When will a real metaphor break through this decrepit storm
And bring to a new life, another day
The ghosts of every memory still haunt wakefully my every eye
I can lie here only pretending, my emotions left so unknowingly disguised
Abandoning the trails where we lay there so in love. Irrational and perennially confused. Lost in moments difficult to deter from lust.
…Our mournful friends wander hallways speaking incantations of mistrust
And now I deceive, yet still never escaping these meaningless blurs of dust
Obviously I have yet to be found.
And as the beats of wishful mourning
Plague through these lullabies
Sleep there in the dying forest, you’ll still be found in my last mind’s eye