I am alive at night. During the day I am someone else.
I am exhausted and would give anything to make it all stop.
But even more I would give, to make it all come alive…
Less and less do I give a shred of a fuck about way too much —
The mania of people clamoring and spinning their collective wheels into whirlpools of nonsense that they know isn’t real—
Why do we engage in theatrics? Why are people still so obsessed with the play?
But then again, if you start to take a few steps back… can you find something that isn’t?
I found one. Potentially two.
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