Borderline in an almost oneiric fashion of Sleepwalking in an invisible, yet hissing fire; This personification of a hellish realm of Compulsions to the unknown. So I use this hourglass to count away Obsessive invalidation as a victim Of a lonely depressive. As lonely as I, maybe? But also as fake as a narcissistic smile In the shape of a crescent moon. "Hello, La Luna," Whispered I in grave disintegration. "Your lullaby has failed again just like The pills that fall from your eyes In streams of liquid silver." Manic fades with artificial thoughts Of glass silhouettes that cinder out to Make a vast pile of ashes an arsonist could never produce. It was the sun putting an end to my paralysis, But was I still just a marionette pulled by unseen chains? I'm still in a nightmare marked by demons non-existent That even lithium can't cure. But what is that to the bottle laughing next to me?
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