Little Redundancy

No one likes to be alone,
the after thought.
Admitting that its possible is failure to oneself.
The clouds will break,
the faces of dead men shaming and scorning;
enforcing their punishments.
The inevitable enclosing of the walls to help in suffocation.
The mind, that old mind,
still twirling, filling itself with fantasies and possibilities;
chasing someone else to be that after thought.
Everything in circles.

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