Thoughts

Through this focus,
a sort of
hocus-pocus,
I have to cunjure up.

Why do I go out?
People just patronise, sympathise
and materialise with,
I pitty you eyes.

Please don’t cry
through that stare
of yours,
stencilling my contores.

False tears are
liquid-wrapped lies
falling on deaf ground.
Tis my truths that should be falling.

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