October

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I fix my smile and compromise,

The ghosts that haunt behind blind eyes,

For someone my friends could recognise,

And not soul that they despise,

A painted face is sly disguise,

For twisted morals behind which lies,

A deeper urge to be unwise,

To fill lungs so no breath resides,  

And drown the old me 'til it dies,

A shell that has a face like mine,

But nothing me on the inside.

To become new, I realise,

The old version must first demise.



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