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Thoughts of A Borderline Cynic

The trees are breathing
My mind is seeking the answers to life
Such constant melodies of these thoughts inside me
Plague my remaining innocence with doubt and fear
And your big heart cannot erase the wounds that time can’t heal
No herb, no pill, can fix me until I’m real
And if nothing is reality then everything is fiction
Lies are life and life is friction between lovers and workers
A constant war that rages on neutral territory
And I, with my chains, can only watch with bored martyr expressionism
I’d save you all but I’m no help
I’d rather save myself



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MckayThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Oct. 16, 2013 at 7:13 pm:
Sometimes I feel this way too. The feeling's mutual. I felt that the line "No herb, no pill, can fix..." could be better worded as "No herb or pill can fix..." Merely an opinion. Otherwise the poem is precisely what most people feel each day. Life is a labyrinth that no one can understand. Like you say "[our] mind[s] [are] seeking the answers/ to life". Nicely done. 
 
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