Fiction (of 1000 Voices):
Telling me lies in the rose garden
Of my soul,
Never tiring of this endless waltz
Spiraling farther and farther into oblivion.
Can't you tell me darling – why I do this
To myself time and again
When I know the pain it brings,
The ecstasy of exquisite pain – forever?
This game has no winner,
But it is impossible to lose,
Or be forgotten;
Drifting on lemniscates of finest silver thread –
The thread that holds sanity so dear.
Slowly I come to realize
This reality of lies
Is the only comfort I have left,
A blanket I wrap around myself
Filled with rot and moth holes
From 1000 years of misery
In someone else's life.
The roses wither and decay
As my mind comes to accept what I cannot hear –
This fiction of 1000 voices
Ringing ever in my soul.
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