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2009-05-27 | |
Itâ€™s funny years should pass so negligently,
Sprawling a cunning string of unevents â€“
What has occurred is somehow poor and toothless
I cannot grab a sense of me throughout.
Pains go numb, but not because I reach a higher power,
Some shred of tolerance
Towards my idling absolution.
It still hurts,
But touching it no longer comes in hand, like in the old days â€“
Itâ€™s getting less and less innocent.
No one suspects that Iâ€™m unwell,
Not even I can trace my heartâ€™s true mien
Among the pompous clutter of self-deceiving stances,
To stab it in my skin and prove them otherwiseâ€¦
And all they do is think Iâ€™m past the evil threshold
On the safe side of darkness,
On the kind half of the moon,
Which complements its halfway horror.
Iâ€™m not stronger
Iâ€™ve simply grown a thicker frostâ€¦
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