The Likeness of Reality
The more I think the less
I know and the more I hate…
Because I feel like I don’t belong
Like the world isn’t always round,
Like half the things doesn’t matter
As much as the reasons and
Half of what we know is filled
With the half truths of what we
Don’t know.
And life is the strings of a guitar
Never the same, yet always the same
Name. Mine. Yours. Is that what makes us
Us? The art of you being you and me being
Nothing but a forgotten reason for
HATE?
The world isn’t always round, like
Coffee doesn’t always taste the same
And frozen fingers struggle to work
Like a dead soul struggles to feel.
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