At All

I’m so anxious for patience to arrive,
Clothed by a layer that used to mean something.
At some point I’m happy with sadness, sad with the latter,
So I never feel anything at all.

You’ll be free when you’re captured again,
Yet all the things you feel are too scientific.
You don’t want to be the anticipated dream,
So you never feel anything at all.

She’ll be blessed when she has nothing left,
Then she can justify her misfortunes.
She can etch it into her palm,
And she’ll never feel anything at all.

We’re unique when we know we’re the same.
Everybody denies the implausible.
They justify with letters written in brail.
We’re not numb for we know there’s a cause.
We just choose to cast out our words;
We never feel anything at all.





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