The Lost Beckoning!

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I consider myself as a flower in this present moment.

My blossoming is returning into the favors of appearance.

I’m being studied by the witness of tender charms, She picked me up and has now placed me in her prized vessel.

Will she remember to water me as I am without roots?

The overwhelming influx of attention.

Desiring to be spotted, for your name to be realized in the numbers that endlessly count over and over again.

An explosion of popularity is lost in an instant.

It’s the piercing genesis and ever so present revelation.

NO one actually remembers your strokes, as the canvas was a universe of constant mirrors.

Such Vastness beckons at the true identity of, on the line presence.

The NEW system has culturally shown the interest for sharing in the realms of mirrored puppetry.

By the blink of normalcy, you are beginning to lose the flavor of deeply rooted soils. The vessels shatter upon the grievance of ritual.

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