Crazy

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Crazy, crazy is how seems to be the never ending immortality of these lost memories. Really, can no one be as overwhelming as the lowly made statements that vibrate through your drums and into your head. The cruelty of being truthfully filled with both honesty and dishonesty and to never perceive the falling droplets of streaming cries, are best at developing a certain rage pointed at everyone as a blade ironically would.

Crazy, crazy how people usually tend to fear what needn't be feared. Over the falling light which keeps us awake, our voices silently remind us of the polysyllabic words that have not yet found their way onto our rosy tongue. An acceleration of the pulse that keeps you alive might as well be an irrational reaction to the lack of light, yet still it is the acceleration that controls every living being.
 
Crazy, crazy that people never know how to operate properly when memories they feared weren't lost come back into their mind. Surely, with a raging blade pointed at everyone, the person responsible will step up and admit.

Lonely, lonely is the fear of your own memory. Lonely is the fear of never having the ability to to truly believe that you have been honest to yourself. But it isn't lonely because I've already lost count of the number of years since I first pointed the knife. Nonetheless, I still see the knife, as it's blade is strong and thick and straight, heading right to your heart.

Yet, I know it's blade slowly curves back to its master.

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