Veins pinned down by a stuttering mind,
Blood spills out, always pumping in time,
Voices cry harmoniously,
The haunted sound of melancholy,
Then fast and furious,a glimmer of wisdom,
An epiphany,a lyrical mystery,
But like all things,the end comes too soon,
And all that's left behind is a vague memory,
Floating unconscious,a melody that glides,
A beat to the soul,hidden in our minds,
Never quit escaping,confined by reason,
Inspiration slides in this Mirage of rythm.
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