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My Shadow
It's funny wondering whether my shadow likes me, or if it's just there because without it I would be an empty case labeled success, transparent and defined by numbers and figures. Or if my shadow stays because it needs me to be it's opposite. It's goal is singular, while I live in plurals, and in the end it always wins the day and I'm left behind, bothering with lights and hoping my shadow comes back the same but it never does. I force it, demand it, control it, reform it. So I wonder, if my Shadow Like me too, because without it who would I be, besides the mistakes that it absorbs. The hate that my shadow devours, the will that is endless because my shadow never leaves my side even when I feel I leave myself in the dark, with hopes that aren't realistic and dreams that are just that. So I wonder if My shadow like me. Even when it takes all of my sentimental abuse it still grows through the day, but by the end it's tired of it all. Tired of the suffering, tired of always being behind watching me purposely destroy it's necessity for life. So I wonder. Does My shadow Like me?
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Greed
I see what makes me happy, self worthy happening, breaking bringing and seeing my self straight in the eyes. Took what was left, and let it die, still growing in the grave I bury the rage. Even when I say I'm alone here, I don't even try to find myself. Sick this mind falls to sleep.
Screa, screa, screa, screaming
turning in my head I hold it in with my palms and let it escape through my eyes and the heavy feeling rocks me back and lets me fall into the swirl that is responsibility. And if i could turn it away, but it consumes space and leaves no air for breath.
I can't speak, but I can see. I can't Speak but i can see I can't speak but i can see and I can't speak but I can see
Wrapping arms that dress you, the motivation! IT'S GREED.
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Capable
If only I could put into words the depth of me screaming during restless nights that linger on my eyes and continue even when I ask them to stop and let me be peace, they turn me and sounds unheard shake the existence of my wanted solitude, but I know, I know that what I ask for is this, the relentless conscience that loves the despair, I want the self-loathing, the desperation, the diluted sanity in a paper cup on a blank screen, in a black room that only changes where the lights falls, I want the bottom that reaches beyond the rocks and lifts the rest of the earth, I want understanding of what that force is, that I can have it and power an unreal struggle that I dream of telling. But I fail even in failing, I'm desperate for fleeting hope to knock me from my bed and let me ware down my gears. I want to be capable.
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