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I got this world of mine and nothing else. A pint of hope and a bag of assorted images that cut through the day like the sharp blades of Atilla, like the faint late afternoon sun cutting through the thick Los Angeles fog I’m so fond of – sometimes.

I got a piece of fierce imagination when it comes to everything that is impossible and a feeble capacity to shy away from its fire. It warms me at night and fuels the engine that runs these heavy legs I use to walk. This flame is never weak.

I got a hole in my chest and it’s so empty I keep telling myself I’ll find a way of filling it, be it with greatness or passion I will find a way to keep it covered with whatever comes my way and is compatible. I believe in it and I go on. Barely getting the meaning behind this endless wishful thinking I cling on to. Miserably.

I got all of this and some of that and constantly remember that regardless of what I firmly believe, I am nothing but one and just one doesn’t make a million; hell, it doesn’t even make ten, so

I got nothing.

And nothing beats begging for crumbs ~

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