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I sit, I stare hard at the grey sky
Folding my legs under me, as if to fly
I focus, I look but find nothing
Yet I feel its there.
My heart feels it, my mind longs for it
With bloodstained hands I itch for it
Finally I stand, only to be dragged back.
The chains of indecision bonds me.
In tattered soul I lay
Torn between the evils of “yes” and “no”
As the knife of precision stabs me
So they say, as they stare at me
Yet I see no visualisation in its eye
Black as it seems, I see nothing but blankness.
I wish to colour this paleness
But the chains of indecision binds me.

Pricked with ego
I start to follow
Shaking my shackles
I grow with fear.
Fighting my will;
Is the naked reality.
Clearing the scales off my eye
I weigh them in the hour glass.
Then I ask my self ,
Am I ready??

The Haymaker Β©2015

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