peculiar dreams

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What an odd child I was...to an extent,

I am still-

My greatest comfort...my own world,

My greatest hell,

The demons that intrude.

Safe alone....my friends in my

head...

Safe and no one to ignore me...

No one to pass judgement-

Few physical friends....masks with pretty faces made of fragile porcelain...

But could never match up to my own

pretty world of solitude and thought.

My books...my music...my voices playing

in my head...more comforting then a soft down blanket-

Family perverse, psychotic and tormented,

Thus I was orphaned....

Wistfully clinging to

the fanciful dreams....

Love and comfort.

Now 40....but a child no less...

No family, no friends,

But the lingering melancholy of

wishful thinking....

Can love be more?

Chocolate....Endorphin's...symbiotic relations....

Is love ever more then this?

A series of compatible transactions to both parties?

Fleeting dreams and memories,

but always the same fanciful child-

 

Denise-

 

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