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01.04.04 - 11:54 p.m. He sees my shadow. A 'me' of the past, smiling, still holding to hope, forgetting the mass-manufacturing of such dreams; sold to young men full cocked and ready to seize the day. He overlooks the solid. The parts of me, like dark matter, absorbing all light, needing to get my self burning, alive. I am waiting for an Angel. Don't laugh, some wait for tomorrow, and I find that fucking hilarious. An Angel who tells the brutal truth of a God who is dead and of His servants who pull strings on a dead puppet for the world's children who look on with empty eyes. No, they're full, It's mine that have emptied, and I demand a refill. The Angel will come to me, white and pure-ish, and she/he will ask me, "why, child, have you lost your way?" And I will say, "Way? What the fuck are you talking about, there are no 'ways,' the crows have taken off with the bread crumbs in their candy-corn beaks and have left me nothing but the blood of my for-fathers to follow, and that will only lead me down the path of dead men. Dead men have death paths, I am looking for a path of golden salvation." The angel will stare at me with eyes hollowed from compassion, and she/he will say...nothing, because she/he will know that we have spent all of our paths, followed them all back to their beginnings and their ends, and we have come away with no answers for our broken souls. She/he knows that there is no light for me, and her/his tears will fall in my hand. I am reduced to bad poetic prose and unrequieted beliefs in a saviour system to crutch me through these now, moments. I cling to Big-Bang re-beginnings and falter in my approach at cocooning. Where is my hope, now, whose wings have been broken and forgotten? Where's my Angel to take my load for just a short time? All I ask is seconds of freedom, a breath in time, a moment to see the truth.
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