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softer, the skies bleed sheets of ice and poison melting pinnacles of faith all strung around like wedding garlands woven into a knot stuck in the depths of wishes for new beginnings and going outside is a crime of never having said what was expected like the tears spilled for the dead and departed on the shelves that have not been dusted for ages when time is just a construct that serves no purpose except ends always promise blessings because it is easier to start with the one you left behind the door and under the ceiling of every house abandoned to rot like corpses left to vultures to feed the millions still thirsting for wealth which never satisfies but enslaves and masters and kills for the sake of it because there is not enough room any more than making a difference in people’s lives are not as important as ideas or so it seems to be the way everything doesn’t need to make sense of the chaos that has become so normal is another word for bored out of my mind disintegrating into atoms and particles and dust trampled underneath feet on pavements where I wished you were standing next to me is a synonym of I am nothing but a thought that carries with it existence balancing on the tip of a needle that is meant to burst the bubble blown from frothed hands bent out of shape under the weight of the world that only questions and never answers when confronted to a fight of logic and stealth to keep the leeches at bay and far away from the innocence that is hard to prove or make relevant at a time when deceit is the only way forward and making ends is the first thought always listed on a blank sheet with nothing but profit and loss and variables supposed to bring about change but instead creates rifts that push us further apart into the pits we have dug for ourselves heeding only our need to survive if not for the clothes on our backs and pills swallowed like life-giving water to quench all our worries away in the blink of an eye which we seldom use to see what we have accomplished for the lack of knowing better is not the best is next to pointless ramblings to pass the hours turn into days of not knowing what the future holds on in despair it is not going to be easy to make a mockery of things we do not understand that this will pass or fail is a matter of opinion to make up our own minds softly