Blind and shapeless,
to the world,
only a blur,
In reality, a cocktail of denial,
only to be corrected
by the mist
of unknown, glass-clarity
the starry array of uncertainty
and utter, dismal haze
The suits, tees, and shirtless,
amiable at best,
wandering inconclusively,
through all-bearing turnmoil, lust, and
almighty despair
to only yet,
be saved by the shady
hand of the haze as one,
and know truly nothing,
of the motives of past
~Written by Matthew Richard Peterson
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