There is a cut inside my hand
that separates
Life from Reality
A true sense of
where I am now
from where I want to be
Others claim to be able
to read me
And I go along with
the lie
Should I not nod
then egg smears violently
Adhere to rhetoric
I mimic what they tell
Be it I who sees the fine line
inside my head
And provoke my large hands
to grab hold of it all
Releasing to only increase
Again
The story flows
As only spirit knows
May the backs of my hands
stay as clean
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Your story-telling style is awesome, keep it up!