Rose Tinted Windows

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By David Sissac

 

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In the house that never sleeps

where the insanity is its own silence

a salient soul slowly drifts

Through hallways of husky mass

Between structures for cuddles and clasping

And rooms for breathing and gasping

There always lay, windows

With a curious pink hue

A hue of lover’s flower between each ridge

Suffocating the gaps yet still allowing sight

The shlumpy soul peers through

Seeing the entrancing beauty that encompassed all there ever was

But was it really true?