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This distorted dream
Whispers congregate around blemished hardwood
Made of self-worth
An imperfect bliss
I caress my fingertips against the dander of nocturnal slump.
This wasn’t the lighthouse I was looking for
To brighten my ocean
Could the touch of rudimentary epiphanies
Become a burdened forgiveness
My teardrops can only hope.
©Drake J. Eszes