carrying a usual load
it's real and it's not
upon my shoulders
like atlas
I scurry to a fro
to grow not shrink
my shrink says I dont see the light
that I like to snuff it out
after I've licked the tips of my fingers
cordially I dance a somber tune
alone I stand in line with everyone else
waiting my turn
what are we waiting for again?
no one remembers
so we make it up as we go along
I long for real because everything
I am is fake
everything I see is an illusion
a perception, its relative
and I no longer want
to relate
©swk4411
S