Plucked

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Spending days dreaming, nights in torment.
Wishing to fly away into another world. Where
this weighted heart, shall finally be at peace.

The only comfort found in the restlessness,
are in twilight dreams. Glimpse past, the looking
glass, and see, my blemished badge
of honor. This, hides my weakness. Where
my one lone soul, saddens. A hostage, taken
down with spiraling messed up visions, into
a delirious world, I long to stay in.

Some witness these vacant eyes, but only one
knows my heartfelt misery. He sees beyond
this boarded up cell, knows what I know,
and he too, feels every pin point dragged,
across times distant shore. No wings,
to soar, just feathers at dusk
plucked, in disregard.

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LeBrozLeBrozover 16 years ago
~~

Really good {and deep}; it seems that the phrase, "messed up visions" doesn't quite fit with the other phrases you've used here. The only slightly jarring note in an otherwise fine piece of writing.

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