Would I Still Write It?

I’m a huge mess, drowning in rose-colored lake.

Searching for meaning.

I thought I’d found one, like everybody else.

In somewhat of an enlightenment and revelation.

Turns out, I’m the firecracker.

Ready to crack, burning in a circle.

I’m a loose cannon.

Causing havoc everywhere I go.

But I dreamt of sunrays and became one.

Giving warmth until I run out of it.

Can I still do that?

Would I believe it?

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