I am dreaming
in the eye of denial,
yet living
in the eye of belief.
I trust
in the eye of wisdom,
yet live,
going forward,
in the eye of mindfully conceived.
I expect
to become the eye
of manifest
and fall prey
to the narrative self-generated.
I called it love,
as an open sea.
the other side of course,
is far out of sight.
why, I have a moment,
as if clarity took a stance,
is beyond comprehension.
though aimless and senseless
yet fully erect.
as if existing
as part of the self-camouflage,
that pursues life
as if identity
is the gaming of life.
in the living,
pain is just a page turn
and then back to the story at hand.
mumbling is a formal language,
which does not try for understand,
but seeks expression for other needs.
emotion doesn't have a formal way to speak.
I am nude inside of my body.
I need a mirror for that,
just to see my soul . . .
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