Where my mind floats to when I disconnect from the last verse that ever makes sense. I make my way to attest my own weakness, But it comes to no surprise that in my mind I suffice a perpetual state of longing a never ending dream, lucid, to which real life becomes inferior. I follow my own sorrow as it would ever reply with reason. I am no longer my known self, standing under the star-filled skies, wind caressing the skin of a tormented soul. Not by love he's come to know, not by the lust he's ever came upon, not by the deception of what the real world holds. Not by his own unwarranted assertion that he holds no card that would satisfy his yearning to once again live the life lived,. and to know the life led to the end,.

Present, where the mind floats endlessly, provoked by it's own creation, enticed by it's own destruction. Potentially in an ever-lasting state of bliss,. Tonight in my own skewed state, I welcome what has to come next,.
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