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Being Human

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During the day I am a frail human
parading around,
Wearing a crown of thorns.
Counting my coins.
They’re far from gold.

I’m enveloped in a days worth of
Emotions. Glued to my own
Make- shift throne.
My consciousness; an erratic shift
between lightness and darkness
All in a sunny afternoon.

I become alive in the night.
Only then am I the sorcerer,
Instead of a silly Queen.
I become the jester to my own mind.

Magic.
I make it myself, with eyes closed.
Dreams intertwine with the soul.
I’m dancing with my own satisfacation.
Only then do I feel truly alive.

Until I wake up, and again take my makeshift throne.

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