open

pt. I

mayhaps
I don’t belong
and, the illusion
that ever did
fades
and
aches
its way
away from here

maybe, I cling
to that what never
been
the never was, intoxicating
and
framing the disappoint
delusional woes,
the dolled up
faces
wasted, on the eyes
of me

pt. II

alone, although
full room around
sipping
down the anxiety,
drink back
to sobriety,
as awaits
propriety of the
ears
of those near enough
to test,
to see,
if these stories
were worth
the weave

pt. III

yet, still,
reflected
in my own
psychosis-ish
belief,
somethin’ sneaks behind
self,
doubt,
past the woes
of k(no)w one knows,
and
just up over beyond those there
diluted memories-
it be

for, you see,
in this,
perhaps blissful,
most certainly ignorance,
me
thinks,
the room could be took-
if not until valhalla-
at least
for
an evening

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