ingnis fatuus

so self conscious i strike as oblivious

a feeling that arises from the need, not the other way around

it has become an unity it aint units anymore

where abstraction becomes neglected neglection

like a castle in the air

figment of imagination

but still a real fragment of the mind

quickly shattered between closing walls

in a castle on the sky all painted in fiends blood wich they call the fools paradise

surrounded by indistinct foggy gold resonance

but reverie and phantasy strech by far

and my hands can’t untangle sailor knots

nott that i wouldnt even try

but i might aswell rot in the process

right in the verge between invention and ilusion

and i bet i would still be lacking verve to perception

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