Escapism is gracing me with a tasteless type of patience. Explains to me that faith is weak and fake when its complacent. Its plain in ink when faceless peeps would state that he is flagrant. Then they believe when blatantly I play to beat frustration. No name I need I came to see whos face will meet the pavement. It drains my peace and trains my beast in waves til he is jaded. To aim my grief is lame I seek to shame the sheep’s false statement. In vain I weep in blame I sleep the stage I’ve reached is hatred.
Poetry
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