Tattered pages of fiction

I find myself in bewilderment
on a similar and darkened path
away from all the lights of hope
the same seething itchy rash,
warm Sunlight is all but put out
by the feigning of mind and heart
making one to believe
that two are not separate parts,
but the ravine is far far deeper
and its way to steep at the sides
bloody nails have tried to climb
knocked back by the echo of lies.

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