Chased by
invisible ghosts
the sounds of the past
hurt
and pain
and failure.
love
and beauty
and solitude.
simultaneously
because all at once
we are living
and we are dying
and we are calling out for attention
by being alone
waiting for
the twisted hand of fate
to act,
once again.
once again
seeking freedom
once again
asking the question
to know life
to know oneself
lost inside
the sickly sweet,
pink hue
of an evening sky,
rotting,
like forgotten cotton candy floss
melting over the horizon.
it's different
in every place we've been
yet disturbingly the same.
enough to make you loose your mind
on a Wednesday night
just to figure out
what it all means
and where to go
from here.
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