Lines upholding
The skies unfolding
A mad man’s strumming a noose
Plucking the fibers
With his rusted pliers
His ecstasy’s merely a ruse
Deep in his meditations
He prays to a mirror
A funhouse echoes his pleas
Down on his knees
Mimicking a monotone
The reflections have shown
Just where he ought to flee…
Somewhere in a forest of cinders, a mountain springs from the columns. Amid charred trees, drowning in ashen seas, a carousel sinks in the soot. Mindlessly spinning in a lifeless twirl, the horses gallop about the center. A steady trot, accompanied by a ghostly plot, the squeaking is ominously clear.
The ride is coming to a stop…
Life in this carousel is cyclical,
Demanding of him a singular price. 
He forfeits all his heartfelt notions,
Repressing the lively oceans, 
Just to escape his splintering view,
Through a solution too despairingly askew.
You see, his mind has redrawn his life. Forged it into something raw and contagious -a conclusion that drafts him among the nameless. However, his existence is anything but unnoticed. Outside his funny mirrors, away from the downward spiral of his carousel, he is loved unknowingly. A truth that, all too often, abstains from the light of laughter. For love, too, can be a distorted matter.

Bryan Jimenez is a writer on a rampage.

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