Black mist of self-doubt

Hello dear old friend, are you ready to tell me all your lies?

My old broken self, conquered and obsolete, how are you today?

It’s so different the way we speak and talk now, you were locked away in silence, in whisper of wishes, behind the lies.

In mist we lied, in black clouds we flew.

Could I relive those severed days? Could I breathe those hidden thoughts again?

My dear old friend, I’m grateful for those days, even if they were in the veil of tears. In black shadow of pretend, we were true, you and me, we knew each other’s sorrow, and we walked hand in hand.

My old broken friend, you are so often misunderstood, but is that any different? Any different than love, peace, justice? You, my dear old black depression, you are the one who stayed true to me, you are the one who showed me the way, in this hell that we so proudly call our society.

You were the one, my broken self that knew what we were meant to be.

You and I, my friend, hand in hand, for you I’ll trade this light.

Hundred pieces of hundred broken mirrors, in which one do I exist? There are hundreds lies, there are hundreds masks I could wear, hundred threads I can cling to, which one do I call mine? In which one, my dear old friend, are you supposed to be a myth? In which one, would I not be expected to wave you goodbye?

In which one would my truths make sense?

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