He walks down these midnight streets,
he
hears echoes through dim-lit Normalcy.
While one wonders in unison
more self-exposed lies that soul alone.
It is that breath we hear,
that drive -a call- to run,
that wont for all things fun,
that gut-wrenched laugh shame fear.
Hooded and hidden this psyche,
here;
seeks no further idiocy-
secretly- for normalcy.
But under specs of gold above,
(though looketh not)
transient patience. See self dissolve.
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