it's a mess,
thick cords of plot intertwine
allusions to past illusions
streaked glass
we've run out of means
to clean the mess
identity reclusivity
how to best disappear
easily, it would be
when no one knows you
are the streets
faces swallowed
lost in the crowd
the world outside
is never as beautiful
as the one within
only I know to go
to the only place I go.
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