and in the shattered moment thereafter,
the difference I wished I'd never known,
each day in me begins to grow clearer.
Is it always so fragile creation?
I know the madness described inside you,
the drawings on your arms for protection,
the ideas you aspired to make true,
in some else's imagination
will slowly fade and lose identity.
What becomes of the world we leave too soon?
Of all that has been seen, what may we see?
If it's true that what you've lived lives in them
your future may now be another's dream.
Ben Gage
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