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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
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Tapping at my chamber door

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Mirror, mirror on the wall

A distant cry for help and a crouching gladiator, praying for remorse. Meanest anguish for plain deceit, he thought. I quench a desire for a pizza and grow a tummy that I shall name Todd. It grows old, antiquates over my age. I still crawl up to my mirror and cry,

'Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the fairiest of them all?'

'It is but you, my lord and host', said the lying mirror.

I walked past a distance to a place unknown still and wished for a cup of tea that would highlight my day to be marked on a suppositious calendar on a hypothetical wall that I have in a room abstract upstairs in my pillow-walled, two-leveled fictitious house, where my mirror dwells in peace and for always.

Everything was reversed in this illusive world that I've created for my blissful spirit to find peace within itself. Pigs were crowned kings and wives hit men with sledgehammers and children ruled over the household. If only I could find a small hut for me to reside at and be at peace and die alone. I don't care. If only I had magic powers I'd make that hut disappear with me in it. I would rejoice in my own self inflicted void and praise the lord that I still am. Not to mention a silent perseverance that would stand out to the non-existent raving crowds and cry in anger 'I still do exist', needless of my mirror.

'A fuck up, an outcast, a degenerate fool, a marine soldier, a Roman gladiator; I'm somebody's guardian angel; I'm the king's jester, and the kingdom's traitor. Hang me. Free me from guilt and shame', disgracefully he voiced that nobody was listening to.

An Infatuated self pity of a soul that cries for help, with no one around to listen and no hand to reach out for, grabs the mirror standing tall and cries 'mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the fairest of them all?'. Hypocrisy hasn't served me well, never served me at all.

'It is but you, my lord and host'. She said the words I've been longing to hear.

Still reversed, a parallel fictitious universe of my own foolish creation; a world that I've been leaning on for so long. I drown the house and calendar and mirror in my own blood that's leaking out of my vessels, seeking another host with a far better vision.

I should have stopped. I should have listened. I should have overlooked.

I should wash the soot out of my eyes and pray for a better tomorrow in this real world I have returned to.

Then I found myself rushing into the ladies room.

nice to see you are posting in english again i was kinda waiting for this, but was surprised when reading your last senetnce.
what is happening to you man?

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