Dear Whatchamacallit

I seek to ponder in the mist of my imagination to regain a sense of reality. What can be achieved by the infinite and the unending depths of tragedy...

I the midst of confusion, there is purity and in a flock of sheep, a wolf in pure white fleece.

To part from this very moment, the vision screams. Yet with legs embedded in lead reality awakens.

Returning, the mist clears... the vision unblemished, the path isn't. To bite the bullet and to take one in the heart, tomorrow morning, sunrise will reveal.

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