Sometimes I stop dreaming because the reality doesn’t exist. I haven’t seen what I haven’t done so what they say is what exists.

I hold what they want as my need. The clutch of selling out allows me to clear out space to leave reality.

I lose me as I live the fallacy of a cryptic reality. It’s encoded with illusions of collusion of light an darkness that paint the masterpiece of an unequal equilibrium.

The requiem that’s required to be an individual is lost, I’m no longer spiritual. The drive that moves me is purely emotional.

I can’t move if I’m too busy pushing you. The truth is I lost along time ago when I sold-out just to be “that” into you.

I thought it was love to give into you. I was wrong, after the dust settled you had grown, while I had become what was wrong. A man stagnate.

Throwing a fit of selfishness, searching himself for where it all went wrong.


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