The fallacy of me

A fallickle man torn deeply at the seams, 

Clocks flowing backward, 

I am but the shadowed after-image of the yet foreseen. 


The desolate paths etched in green and blue, 

Make way for the emperor, 

That which is me. 


Shallow and hollow shells, 

I do not see life in them,  

For the depravity of man fell solely on my shoulder,

It seems. 


Gothic be the day when I stepped into the brushery of that dream, 

To stand below the ocean,  

Where I could not be seen. 


I grip the strands desperately through this effervescent dream,  

But those who wake cannot see the afterimage of me, 

Torn delicately from the seam.  

◄ Filthy and Afraid

It is ►


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