98.) red isn't green

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Fantasy pacifies the griever and there is nothing more artistic than a broken mind.
There is nothing like loss for a misbeliever like a shard from the past you cannot find.

As much as I want to recreate the world I lost, life's to blame.
I don't have the same building blocks.
As much as I want them to be, they aren't the same.
Everything is out of stock, so I throw hard rocks.

Red isn't green,
as much as I want it to be.
Circles aren't triangles,
sadly, tragically.

Yet you pretend purple is yellow,
you lie to me,
and I trust your lies.
You can't hurt me and expect me to be mellow,
you lie to me,
and something in you dies.
It will be your self worth which I shall attack,
you will be plagued with guilt and sleepless nights.
Lying to me about the suicide of my friend the black
will come for your mind and will corrupt and darken your whites.

How dare you fabricate such a dark lie?
Who the hell do you think you are, who am I?
Am I a naïve child you can take advantage of, freely?
Did you think your sins would go unpunished, really?

But I didn't know how dangerous my actions were until it was to late.
Thankfully you have not yet met your fate.
I am peace, harmony, in a zen state.
But I am also trouble reincarnate.

I promise never to ask again
how he was murdered.
Not even then
had I stared up at the stars and murmured.
︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎
    𖦊      𐀔  𐃸   𖦊 ʊ
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