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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2222017
Tired of being what I’m not
Myriad forms converge.

He hides behind the pieces of himself, revealing all but never the whole.

One mask today, another tomorrow. A different performance for each audience.
He grows tired of the costumes he wears; none the prefect fit for his entirety.

The act draws to an end.

Stripping down to his very soul, he is naked but finally complete.
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