Is it time
For one last goodbye?
The splendorous beauty of a beast
I created
May haunt me
For the rest of my life,
Murdering every molecule
From every neurone i possess.
Where can i find balance?
The pejorative sensation
Of impending doom
Strikes at every second,
Filling thoughts and pages.
Nonsense of ideas,
I find myself redundant when confronted
With duality.
The book has too many pages
For the age it demonstrates,
How can some story be erased?
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