tired of the laughter

and the nice things


i  say, while

potent poison brews within


and makes me immune

to myself

and my hatred for

all that is pure.


It is not a thought if

it requires thinking, and


it is not yours if

it requires searching for.


Oblivion is heaven for

those who trade dreams


for drugs and passion for

momentary dazzle.


Tired of the laughter, the joy,

the put up smiles and


this facade. What’s it called?



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