I was absent from most things,
absent minded,
absent hearted,
absent in spirit,
I was brokenhearted without thorough reason,
no notions of real sadness,
no understanding of deep rooted pain,
no desire to heal these wounds,
I was resistant to most things,
with purpose,
with malice,
with delusions of delinquency
and for what---
for sunshine,
for the fleeting specters and phantoms of octarine,
for the false hope of the Fata Morgana,
No one could say I was not an idealist,
save for me
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