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myOtaku.com: Sachiko


Friday, August 26, 2005


1 a.m.
She see things in her head,
Some are more beautiful than anything she's seen in life,
Others are grotesque,
And could never be equaled in any film.
These are worthy of expression,
But are impossible to relay,
She can't decide if her head will first explode,
Or implode.
She tries in vain to find ways to vent,
Through music, writing, or art,
But nothing truly expresses what she sees in her dreams,
The incubus slinks through the morning shadows,
And hides from the afternoon sun,
Only to torment and torture her in her final solitude.
But ah, the beauty she sees during the day.
Witness the unhealthy balance of her mind,
But it is balanced nun-the-less.
Is it normal?
Is it natural?
She doesn't care or know.
Just let the droning of the guitar rifts drift you away.
The final bliss for a troubled sleep.
Count the beats to hell.

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