From reality I take vacations, when I don't want to face tasks, put my hands to the labor
to keep creating. Why do I need to soar back into the air watch you from far away,
playing jigsaw with pieces that blend in at a distance every day?
Observing my asymmetry, and its dissent with imagery, I become more grounded in the internal. Forced to see everyone in me, as if my heart were made of glass, while every single moon La La Land glides in illusions. My battles are worth it.
I keep trying to play vocal chords that will spell a melody with cleansing attached; compiling a sentence that slithers its way to the core of my ambitions. Reaching the top is the easy part, dealing with the loneliness is difficult.
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