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 Grandeur Of Melancholy


You run yourself ragid 
trying to mentally keep
up with others, or someone
you don't like.

Not a friend.
Not an enemy.
Something far worse;
a chaser.

So I run faster; out
of breathe quicker.
An excuse to make
that you are not in
a race at all.
To win them now.

Because you can't,
beaten down,
all those laps
did not nothing
to help you get

Only paced yourself;
there are no trials,
they aren't following
your steps; they are
erasing potential ones
already land.

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