Dear whoever is listening,
In a room with red lights and shag carpet I attempt to unleash some feelings.
Here on this piece of paper,
like an artist with clean canvas.
Somewhere in the artificial world I created, I realized it was wrong.
Somewhere some night I realized the person standing there was not me.
Cushioned between morals that were worn and showing their nakedness, I pulled out. Reevaluating my situation. Who was I listening to? Who's life am I leading?
However abrupt these questions came falling down in front of me, I seemed happy.
I was a dreamer. Who disguised her life until there was only a nightmare.
A cold desolate place visited everyday.
No road ever finished.
Then out of the clouds a light, a savior.
Choice.
The fact I have a choice,
but the choices there were created by me. But created in advance.
Now I have to decide what road to repair.
But it's sunny, I am happy, knowing direction has no meaning.
Because I can always turn back.
Sincerely,
Who cares
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