Even if it does, it happens to others, far away.
Other lives like so many species of flies.
Each distinct and separate from us.
Lets pretend that words are living–
Poetry saves lives. These squiggles have depth and meaning.
Lets pretend art is beauty. And beauty is our saviour.
We shall rage against the night for beauty. And only beauty.
Lets pretend every dissenting voice is a cynic.
A miasma. A pebble in the eye.
We shall write them words full of beauty.
See. Lets pretend they shall.
Lets pretend everyone else is stupid.
Lets pretend we get depressed
because no one understands what we understand.
We see things that no one else sees.
We shall collect words that speak to us.
We shall read more. Every sentence, every paragraph
another brick in our immaculate comprehension.
Lets pretend this is the true purpose of life.