The Fall

		After the fall
		my options seem to disappear.
		My opportunities grow small.
		My thinking isn't very clear.

		If the future doesn't matter,
		then the past is all I own.
		My tears begin to splatter.
		Fallen hopes are lying prone
		cut and bleeding to the bone.

		After the fall
		the present tense is quickly fading,
		throwing shadows on the wall,
		lying low and masquerading

		as the past
		and never ever seems to care.
		Oh what will last?
		Whose dreams lie shattered there
		beyond redemption or repair?

		After the fall
		despair.

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Abstraction of chaos

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