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The Critic
I watched flashes on the silver screen
Saw the actors play their parts in stories of life and life itself
While I sat,
Not even a player
Just an imaginer
Who observed vitality
And had a thirst that could only be quenched by a fountain
Hidden by time in stories and castles
Then you came along
With your permanent smirk
And escapades
And love for me
And hate for me
And life for me
And pain for me
And a fountain brought for me
While I had distaste for you
And contempt for you
And coldness for you
And only occasional love for you
Which was somehow ignored
Because my rare good overshadowed the ubiquitous bad
That I never really understood
So I ignored your love and faced your buried hate
Using it as a cover for my own failings and fears
Using it as a way to push you back into corners
Using it as a reason to tie my laces and run
Back to the dark room with the silver screen and small portions of life that I couldn’t push away
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