September 9, 2013
High expectations every decision,
every want we find ourselves hoping against hope to repress.
They corner the heart and isolate it from the mind,
so as to terrify us into sublimation.
They drug you with the intoxicating vapors of misinterpretation,
and lead you to the alley of all you fear,
and smother you in the syrup of our long believed needs.
Searching for perfection in the tarnished metal plague,
The castle becomes a studio of boxes empty
Hide them in shelves kept locked, tight away
A bureau of dreams, vanity for another day.

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Tytee_22baby said...
Dec. 24, 2013 at 12:59 pm
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