And there I was again,

facing down the part of me which I’d sworn I’d killed,

that facade I called Me ~once~ with purple shades in hand,

and though it was truly derived for the betterment of me,

ego found a way to arrest my development,

now with all my money spent` a soul bereavement,

I speckled sheep whose dots are eyes,

though to know, raison d’etre,

yet to know that light is well within,

and here we go,

in tawdry toils we weave,

never knowing when and where,

we believe the bereaved,

though you and your catatonic state,

have found me oft and late,

and rather spending lies to sate,

pricked a thorn within my fate,

now for the most part,

I can see you as you are,

a product ended much like tar,

and this amalgam reaching far,

into the soul this vessel mar,

but I’ve a strength that knows no bound,

a song that plays without a sound,

a depth of character so round,

that I will catch you on the ground.




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