A collection

It is more than just 'real'. It is nothing but what you imagine it to be.
It is your form of motivation; your picture of wanting, on the wall in your living room.
It is your defeat, as you read and wonder whether or not you have thought of it yourself; your reflection mirrors you as you do of them: being yourself, wanting more than what you have.
For whoever you are: this can be part of you, all of you.
It is a part of me.
It's a collection.

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It is cold, and it is as well dark. Who knows if I am to be seen resting in such an ambiguous location; deep down in the burials of the roots of the trees. At least it is my form of protection, for I do not think there is anything or anyone else who would want my constant plead for help, for joy, as well as happiness.

I am my cloak. I am my clothing; I am conscious of where, and who I am. It may be wasteful to figure out who or where I am, but I am not as promising as it may seem: lost and unwanted. The butchers of my life have inflicted me with pain; the result, being the torn and broken person of who I am now. 

I am my cloak, and I am my clothing; Promises unheard of, and unspoken. 

These thoughts… in my mind; all comfort to the body I posses: scathed and hurt, inducing reflections of my past. I wish to be god, a wish to choose my destiny, my hopes and dreams; all coming true in a steady slope of progression. I wish to be your friend; a comforting companion who is steady with you as you steadily blossom and grow. And if you are to grow bigger, they do not mind. I do not mind.

I wish.

And so what is temptation? The urge of asking for more of which is not yours but still, you want it, so badly, because you are hunger itself; starved for days gone by without crumbs nor treats to keep yourself steady. Why make the days last when you are actually nothing? Are we all needed? Some would agree, yet some would consider this question with deep thought. Why keep all who have nothing? I am a waste, a lot soul drifting through existence. A ghost in the eyes of mankind; both man and women alike. I am temptation, brought to pain by the madness I have brought on. I am god, wishing for my own and everyone’s existence to have meaning. I am my cloak, and as I am my clothing. Deep within this willow bark of darkness, I am weary of my life.

And yet I still dream on.

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