Most of the time
I cannot write
of what I see
or think
I feel but I do not seek
subjectively I am indeterminism
within a fatalistic mechanism of the soul
I observe, even participate
in the sacrificed logic
shedding
pale metaphysical tears
because the longer I live
so much more has gathered
about the edge
as more days go by
I begin to recognize
the happy truth
that I was
barely
here at all
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