for what better does it seem
to see beyond the colors
and more than the horizon
but unable to be.
free from the strings
called destiny and fate
intertwined and overlooking
love, lust and regret
without somehow being
able to see your smile soon after.
this isn't love,
you see,
for i can freely choose
if i should or shouldn't be.
no better judge but tomorrow
and a restless sleep
turning and turning over
a cold comfy bed
beneath the folds of a warm blanket.
let me not see
but let me sleep.
I am not in love but still
be in love without meaning
to be unlove.
toss aside the querry
this is all a short fairy tale.
there is no meaning to
this verse as well what
it mirrors overlooking
this pages of crumbled
letter joint together
by the unseen hands
of the puppeteer,
the master playwright
and the song writer without a voice.
the god of the machine
uses it's hands to signal tears.
the light will go off
as the curtain roll
down the cheeks of eternity.
the unapplause of the blind
and cheerings of the deaf
will reasonate with the mute.
we are all invalid.
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