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real boy.  


I thought a shadow was a man and chased

a promise spoken nought. I wished into 

an empty whole, an ocean left to waste 

and drought. His heart, cast in a solemn hue, 

black trenches where blood pumped to dry. A thick

mask to hide a formless face, a small lie

to mask a jaded high. His love, a mix

of lust and doubt to warp the virgin light

askew. He calls when he has disappeared

within his mind left to brood. He cannot

be left without a torch to shape a mired

design, or else he loses all he’s got, 

a defective mold of a man he’s cloned

not even an ounce of water would hold. 

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