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Dear Mr. Poet, It has been some time since we last spoke. I still remember your words of budding integrity: "To be free Is to be most present and vulnerable, with mind, body, and deed.
To her I had clung, Haunted by the melody she’d sung. Only bitter pieces remained, And the numbness waned. “Don’t cry,” she’d say,
Stress Destroys all peace And throttles all senses Creating images that cannot exist Attacking reality,
My heart beats the same as ever My eyes see just as poorly My nose works just as well Yet I am different When I roll out of bed late
My room, A cage for those who runaway A mirror for those who seek it anyway My room, Cold feet stand where no one stood before
Snow drifts and Sand dunes are impossibly the same. Delusion and dissolution
Two wolves stood eye to eye One covered in fur dark with the night sky The other dressed in brilliant white They bared their fangs, ready to fight! As quick as they lept, as swift as they tore
Be quiet Be kind Be good, please I beg you No Don't, please. Be quiet, Sufferings
The silence that fills his ears mirrors the emptiness that lives within him.Yet the chaos that controls his mindpenetrates as deeply as the scars that litter his skin.
Open windows Open doors Broken glass strewn Across the floor Out of my prison I do see
My pillow stained with tears, another sleepless night for the lonely.