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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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