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Wake up
In
The middle
Of
The
Night

Consciousness
Can
Focus
On
Things
Normally
Out of
Sight

Exaggerating
Tiny
Details,
To which it
Clings

What
A
Relief
The
Morning
Brings
Hunter's moon last night.
Don’t like,
Don’t look.
Don’t want,
Don’t read.
If you do,
Then I’m not
In control
If you bleed
i am barely breathing
   tell me this is not my destination
   i just want to ask you something—

is this where i truly belong?
  i am trying! oh god, yes, i am!
  when did it all go wrong?

all the lies i fed myself—it is becoming real
   i have always known it
   i was never meant to heal
no such thing as a crybaby im doing fine guys
There is a word
There is a feeling
There is a seed
That is growing
Never allowed to grow
Beyond ornamental,
Small perfect leaves
On small well pruned branches;
To please the eye
Of miniature torturers.


Cramped in a micro life,
Roots restrained
Within un-natural boundaries.
The promise of a tree
Never really fulfilled,
Beyond a whisper.


Fussed over relentlessly,
Like an O.C.D.
Perfect shape and form,
Trained from natural beauty,
To sit on a shelf
Hidden from reality.
To say that the metaphysical mystique of the human race
is an imaginary condition is a gross denial of evolutional
principle .  What then is the nature of problematic prosthesis,
the personification of sartorial perfection , or the picturesque
visage of spectral grace ?
Impertinence important, inadvertency inaplicable, initiate innate interpreters intervene intricacy.  Inane inerte, inertia innate: carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character chrisma, harpy harsh hast severities, emanate imminent perdition asperities.  Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all.  We are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness.  Similar states of analogous contusion and ancillary subordinateness.
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