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The Poverty of My Reality

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Midsummer season on my wintry lips,
these modern symptoms from antiquated sorrows.

The sunlight of acceptance,
the midnight of isolation.

Youthful blushes and the wrinkles of experience,
I have the free will to question my fate.

This wealth of imagination,
and the poverty of my reality.

The warmth of trust in my own creativity,
and the cold of envy I have of normality.

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