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THE WORLD OF THE UNFORGIVEN
Slowly, steadily shall I row my rickety boat along with my regrets and disappointment.
Adorn with jewelries of assorted gold and diamonds,I bear the repercussions of a whore label like an ornament.
The outside innocence and deep canker displays evident to the eye, there's nothing to self deceive any longer.
To my thoughts,I thought a lot,but to my heart I ignored a lot, overlooked it like a fools fiesta.
What shall I say or do to culprits who made my life and it's everything impossible to deal with,tis the boring day to indulge in a siesta.
It's all gone,it's over like it never happened,staring around at what disappointing route my life partook,what more can I say,I'm deafened with the piercing silence.
The hunter is about as a predator stalking up and sneaking on its prey,the innocent gazelle is shot by a bullseye bullet,raspy breaths it finally takes it last breath amid the wincing pain,tis such an abhorrence.
Gently down the stream I paddle along,tis true to life being a dream,along parallel universes, I'm awake yet asleep in my drugged slumber.
Friends and acquaintances surround me,as I look at them with their sinister and pretense smiles,I soliloquy as to their relevance,a fools play it is to condone the superficial people, they have not a care in the world than to make the world bend towards it's feet.
Oil spillage mars the busy streets amidst pungent odour,the water cuts out in low supply,yet they pin it on the plumber.
I need a respite,yea ,a refreshing and meditative one to rid me of this plague of loneliness and depression of the environment I find myself in, peering around I can't afford to not be afflicted with it's deceit.
Taped mouth, black eye,slit wrist, disheveled hair, puffy eyes and the everyday facade,no,how much can a man tolerate,it's already battered and bruised by the fist of life,many disappointments,thus making it difficult to differentiate between friends and foes, enemies and allies, yeah let's be clear I trust no one,not even I.
Dear one, I besiege you,give me a day or two to think of something clever to write her a letter of appreciation, she's been through hell and highwater,melted into it's finest by the burning fire.
The raving lunatic points her finger at me and condemn me for my unholiness,yet I ask,who is she to pass judgement,more of a bitter whiskey which has gone stale than a fine wine which has been pressed by the refined man of an accolade of "the Sire".
Perhaps I can soar and glide in the skies of the astral plane, swinging on my chandelier with a broken neck,they pushed her to do it, they heard her cries and suffering yet did nothing to help alleviate the pain in her heart and the body shame of her figure.
In the magazines of the vogue they project being thinner than thick or plump,thus she sets out on the road of starvation, this was her plan only to be left in the cold with her thoughts,in the final she went under the knife but was left with her body in disfigure.


Author: Francisca





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