As the facade lifts, the semblance rips;
I wish, as my past self rifts.
For I am weary and often teary;
I feel no lie no truth.

And I, as my last tie clipped;
Fly away, fly away, fly away.
I ascend, but further descend;
This madness around me sways.

I prod on to another day;
Wishing I was fine.
But within me it ticks;
To blow out my wick.

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