I wonder what will be of my children. Should pretend to be happy forever living a lie? Do I be realistic and show my dis-enchanted feel of the world? What is the correct path to honesty within yourself if you must set an example of what things could be, not how you perceive them?
My own thoughts murder my intentions. My view has an overlay of anger. I can see things that should be overlooked. Each one growing in intensity as I look at the world, only to be the things that blind me.
The searing pain that scars my mind doesn't stop it from thinking. It consumes my logic to try and prove it point to myself.
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