What we know
Is everything
That's why there's nothing left.
Sleep calls, the future calls, experience calls
And we answer.
To me it is scary, but solitary.
I just want that.
My steady path towards introversion:
A yellow brick road towards sanity.
But maybe the end is deceiving likewise
Why do we crave recognition?
We can't see ourselves when we're dead.
I still yearn for it.
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