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my soul i shield behind too many thorns, from the pangs of perfect love lost and the
new pains of love forthcoming, the ill hour when the universe conspires against this
minimal particular that i play out in empty charades, every week i rehearse a new face,
frail as a butterfly boy, hard and cold as a velvet vampire, hollow and miserable like
any other face in the empty crowd, my soul i shield with too many wounds and a host of
fake smiles.
my heart i hide behind innumerable walls, high as babel towers, prideful as the mid-day
sun, i scream fake hollowness upon the world,i observe as unsuspecting preys come near
and grab the bait, then spit their disgust at its tastelessness, i cower and i cry as i
have practiced nights on no end, every tear is perfect, every sigh makes my world
shiver, and i smile, coldly, i have triumphed, the uncaring world is dead to me.
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